Mulan's POV
I put the room back together.
It was a stupid thing to do. Pointless, really.
But the dead men were still on the floor. The blood was still drying. The window was still open. I knew none of it mattered.
But I couldn't stop moving.
I righted the overturned chair. I pushed the table back into place. I straightened the rug that had been bunched up near the door.
And I didn't even stop when I heard my mate's voice in my head through the mindlink.
Mulan. I found his jacket. It's covered in blood.
I didn't stop moving.
He's not there, Mulan. I'm coming back to you.
I touched the table again. At least, the surface, it was scarred from the struggle, from my Grey's desperate attempt to escape whatever had come for him.
I ran my palm over the wood grain, feeling the gouges where his nails had dug in.
Kale?
I reached through the mindlink.
His voice was ragged, breathless.
I'm still looking. Just his jacket. It's hmm... Mully, it's soaked. There's so much blood.
