Serenity's POV
The clock on the wall chimes a solitary, heavy note—one in the morning. The sound seems to bruise the silence of my apartment as I stumble through the door.
My hands are still trembling, a fine, uncontrollable shudder that makes the simple act of turning the key feel like a monumental task. The adrenaline that carried me through the dark alleyways is receding, leaving behind a cold, hollow ache. My right arm throbs with a dull, rhythmic heat, the muscles cramped and protesting from the sheer force of swinging that heavy metal rod. Every time I close my eyes, I feel the jarring impact again, the vibration traveling up my bone. My heartbeat hasn't found its natural rhythm yet; it thrashes against my ribs like a bird caught in a cage.
I let my bag slide off my shoulder, hear
