A buzz reverberates Clara’s skull. Too much to drink, once again. Atticus had remained seated on the floor spread with various other wolves. Predominately male. He’d gotten into a light-hearted argument with his father’s beta, which had attracted attention. Enough for Clara to slip away unnoticed. Her eyes glide to Evelyn, deep in conversation with some of the younger outer bank wolves. Clara wouldn’t know their status, if it wasn’t from the familiarity from her visit. And the tell-tale sign of Evelyn’s dropped defence and lowered shoulders.
Taking advantage of the time alone she scales the heaving stairs until the Nesta folk voices patter out. The upper landing vacated completely. No lights lit. The moon filters through the stained-glass windows. Clara grazes her fingers of the intricate
