LUTHER
"Tear that damn door down!"
The words rip from my throat before I even think them, before I can stop myself from pouring everything into them—every ounce of rage, every shred of frustration, every unspoken thought that’s been clawing under my skin since the second I stepped into Theodus’ shadow and found nothing but f*****g ghosts.
For days, I’ve been running in f*****g circles, sniffing out every lead, every whisper, every scrap of information that might drag me to my people, and still—nothing. No bodies. No scents. Just blood dried into the dirt and walls splintered from fights I wasn’t there to finish.
And the worst part—the part that’s eating me alive, the part that’s been festering under my ribs like rot—is the thought that maybe I was too slow.
Maybe I lost them already
