Ian eyed my scrawny fade-out, chest kicking odd. Mouth opened to call—Clara's kiss sealed it shut.
Something shifted, unnameable. Snagging at him.
I itched to bail the house, but her eyes—everywhere. Stalkers on my tail.
Morning blur of grunt work slicked me in sweat; wounds throbbed fire, fever brewing hot. Head lolled on the desk—out cold.
Shadows swallowed the light; my wrist exploded—sharp vise. I jerked awake, staring up into Ian's thunder-face, fury etched deep.
"Tina—did I spoil you rotten? Turn you lawless? Poisoning paws now?" His glare? Venom dark, voice ice shards.
Wrist grinding to dust under his paw.
Pain twisted my face; mouth worked silent, panic spiking. Phone snatched. *Ian—what the hell?*
"Cut the innocent act. That rash-brew? Straight from your lab room. Why feed
