Chapter Fifty:
The atmosphere in the cramped, tile-lined restroom was suffocating, thick with the chemical tang of cheap bleach and the copper sharp scent of rising fear. Luna's grip on Damien's throat was absolute; her fingers dug into the soft tissue with a hydraulic strength that defied every memory he held of the girl she used to be. The girl who used to flinch at loud noises was gone, replaced by something that looked human but felt like a landslide of cold stone.
"But Stephanie said... she said you died," Damien wheezed, his eyes bulging as he stared into the face of a ghost. His hands clawed uselessly at her wrist, his fingernails scraping against her skin, but it was like trying to move a pillar of solid iron.
