The pale light of dawn was just beginning to streak the sky as Mishka sat on a fallen log at the edge of the forest, her eyes fixed on the smoldering ruins of Bruce's once-magnificent mansion. Beside her, Graham lay on a makeshift bed of leaves, his breathing labored but steady.
"How long does it usually take?" Mishka asked, her voice hoarse from the night's events.
Graham winced as he shifted position. "Werewolf healing? It varies. Minor injuries, minutes. This?" He gestured to his clearly broken leg. "Could be hours."
Mishka nodded, trying to quell the impatience and fear churning in her stomach. There was still no sign of Bruce, and the authorities would surely arrive soon. They needed to move, to search for Bruce, but not before Graham could walk.
Suddenly, a twig snapped nearby. Mishka jumped to her feet, the silver letter opener she'd managed to hold onto throughout their escape now gripped tightly in her hand.