Mel steps back, her small frame shrinking only slightly as she takes in the mounted wings. She has to lean back to get a proper look at the enormous pair directly above her—black and veined with red, their jagged edges feathered with silver. A child's, maybe. Or someone small.
The thought is sharp, vicious, and I tuck it away, choosing instead to watch the frown carved deep into her forehead, the way her fists curl tightly at her sides as her eyes sweep over the trophies on the walls.
Too bad for her. She's already clipped.
"You killed them all?" she finally speaks, her voice quiet but threaded with iron. She doesn't wait for me to answer before she starts walking again, her steps slow and deliberate.
