Vera
I finally left the room when the walls started pressing in too hard. My legs felt like they belonged to someone else, but I made them carry me down the hallway anyway. The pack house smelled like pine cleaner and old blood, the scent that clings to the back of your throat.
In the kitchen, the toast was cold and stiff on a plain white plate. I picked at the edge anyway, tearing off a corner that tasted like cardboard and regret. My stomach didn’t want it. My hands just needed something to do so they wouldn’t shake.
Footsteps echoed louder outside the kitchen door, sounding closer than they really were. I have yet to get accustomed to my new powers especially the super hearing
I set the toast down before I dropped it.
Samuel Whitlock filled the doorway like a storm cloud rolling
