The image of my father's bruised face haunted me as I walked out of the prison. His left eye swollen shut, that ugly split on his lip, and worst of all—the silver cuffs around his wrists that severed his connection to his wolf and to my mother.
I had held it together in there. Somehow. But now that I was outside, my chest felt tight with unspent sobs.
"Seraphina!"
I froze at the sound of my name, hastily wiping away a stray tear before turning around. Camille Valois stood beside a gleaming white Porsche, waving at me with a perfectly manicured hand. Her blonde hair caught the sunlight, making her look like she belonged in a luxury car commercial rather than a prison parking lot.
"I thought you were finishing your volunteer session," I said, trying to keep my voice steady.
"I wrapped up early." She smiled, coming toward me. "I was hoping to catch you. Do you need a ride?"
I stiffened. "No, thank you. I have my car."
