“You know, sneaking up on wolves is not easy,” I voice out as I leave the room, “especially when you seem to have no grace for it.”
“Damn.” Eliza emerges from behind the wall, holding a stick. “I was really hoping I’d scare you.”
“Only scare me?” I ask, looking pointedly at the stick she is holding.
“This is merely for theatrics,” she says, shrugging. “Emerging with your hands held up like claws and saying ‘boo’ seems a bit childish, don’t you think?”
“And a stick speaks for maturity?”
“Again, Claire. Theatrics.” She holds up her stick. “They make all the difference.”
“Sure thing.” I smile. “So, what’s up? Did you want to ask me anything?”
“A lot of things, Claire. None of them seem to come up at the moment.” She inspects my face, gaze surprisingly solemn for
