We were back in Bloomsburg. I recognized the smell of the room I'd slept in before I could see anything. A massive headache threatened to blind me, and when I sat up, I was sure that I was going to find my clothes torn and there'd be blood all over me.
To my surprise, I looked just like I had the day before when we'd made our way to Hempstead. My clothes weren't torn, not even a little bit. My skin wasn't cut or bruised. My left leg had no scar on it, which meant the wound my wolf had gotten in her paw hadn't transferred to me. Or it had, and it had already healed.
I stood up on shaking legs, holding onto the bed frame, afraid I might fall. I was weak, dying for some food and water. But before I could take even a single step forward, the door opened and Wayne came in.
She looked perfectly fine, too. Not a scratch on her, but she wasn't smiling like she usually did.
"There she is," she said, looking me over, unsure of what to think.
