The secluded clearing of Lewis Center was enveloped in an oppressive silence, as if the very air held its breath. The pines, black and twisted, formed a wall of shadows beneath a starless sky. The scent of damp earth mingled with the tang of dried blood, a harsh reminder of the battle against Jay and the Betas. Hugo leaned against a gnarled trunk, grimacing, his shredded t-shirt revealing hastily bandaged gashes.
His golden eyes, still haunted by his transformation, scanned his friends. Ben slumped against a rock, fiddling with his torn jacket, dried blood smeared across his forehead. Yuki sat on a stump, cleaning his blades, his face unreadable.
