Florian was relieved that the terrifying incident hadn't been real—at least, he hoped it wasn't. His mind was a blur. He couldn't tell what was real anymore.
But did it even matter? He was scared out of his mind. All he wanted right now was to disappear. Without a second thought, Florian ran.
His heart pounded in his ears as he ran, unsure when Riona might turn dangerous again, or when Puck would fall lifeless at his hands once more.
He couldn't afford to wait and find out. While things still seemed normal, he had to get away.
He stumbled through unfamiliar corridors, having never gone out of his room before. But stopping wasn't an option—he pressed on, his breath ragged, eyes darting for an escape.
Every time a werewolf crossed his path, Florian skidded, turning on his heels, blindly choosing another route.
It took him far longer to retrace his steps back than it had to reach the beach, every second dragging like an eternity.
