LAYLA’S POV
I can’t stop pacing.
My hands won’t stop shaking either and I’ve tried pressing them flat against my thighs, crossing them over my chest, gripping the back of the chair but nothing works. So I pace, back and forth across the same strip of office floor, mind running through the same loop it’s been stuck in since they pulled me in here: what happened to Calista?
One minute she was reading the letter, performing it for the room, and the next her eyes were bleeding and she was on her knees and the ambulance, an actual ambulance, had to come get her.
We barely use those vehicles around here because even the weakest omega usually bounces back from most injuries before a hospital bed can even be prepped. Unless poison is involved, ambulances are basically decorative.
So is it po
