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A chill ran down my spine. I left the door open as I stuck to the wall, inching my way around the man.
He didn’t move, staying perfectly still.
It made everything worse.
I didn’t know why I expected a great flash of something when I saw his face. I was too worked up, my senses heightened.
He was a thin man, almost gaunt. His cheekbones were sharp. His hair was cut short. He wore jeans and a chambray button-down shirt. His feet were bare. His hands were in his lap. He sat statue-still, the only movement the shallow rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. His skin looked bleached white, as if he hadn’t stepped out into sunlight in a long time.
His eyes, though.
His eyes were like the house.
They were blank. Unseeing. He barely blinked.
I pushed myself off the wall, taking a step toward him, making sure to keep my distance as I cir
cled him. My claws prickled against the palms of my hands.
“What’s your name?” I asked him in a low voice.
Nothing. Like no one was home.
“What are you doing here?”
Silence.
“Why did the woman say I needed to come here?”
He stared straight ahead.
I was sweating. And I was scared. “What have you done?”
He didn’t flinch at the harshness in my voice.
I stopped in front of him. A few feet separated us. I hunkered down on my heels so we would be eye level.
He looked right through me. I wasn’t sure if he knew I was there at all.
He was younger than I expected him to be, though whatever had been done to him had seemed to age him prematurely. The hair at his temples had turned white, and there were heavy black circles under his eyes.
He breathed in. He breathed out.
His heart rate never changed.
I asked, “Do you know me?”
Nothing.
“Do you know Ezra?”
Nothing.
“Do you know Alpha Hughes?”
Nothing.
A memory filtered in through the storm in my head.
