The morning light was too bright for how heavy she felt.
Clara had been at the hospital until late, watching Lily sleep after another grueling round of treatment. The antiseptic sting in the air, the steady hum of machines—it clung to her like a second skin, a weight she couldn’t shake.
By the time she stepped into Wolfe Tower, she was running on little more than caffeine and stubbornness.
She hadn’t expected to see anyone she knew. But Mato was coming out of the elevator as she stepped in, and they nearly collided.
He stopped short, his gaze sharp and unreadable—less a greeting, more an appraisal.
“Morning,” he said, his voice flat.
“Morning.” She didn’t move past him.
Her exhaustion stripped away caution. “Mato… who’s Omas?”
His pause was brief but loaded, his brows knitting toge
