CLARK POV
"I said now," he snapped, and the music seemed to dip for just a second—like even the bass itself feared him.
I wanted to run. God knows I did. But…
"I... I don't know the way," I mumbled, barely audible under the pulse of music, laughter, and murmured sins around me.
But he heard me.
Of course he did.
He closed his eyes and let out the kind of sigh that said I'm-this-close-to-snapping-your-neck. His fingers pressed to his temple, like just existing near me was giving him a migraine.
"Okay… let's go," he muttered finally, rubbing his head like I was some slow, lost child who'd wet himself at a shopping mall.
"But—my friend—Sara," I tried again, voice shaking. I wasn't trying to be brave. I was just trying to survive. Trying not to let her disappear into this twisted, glossy hell like a breath in the cold.
That's when he stopped walking and turned.
And if looks could kill, I'd be a chalk outline on the tiled floor right now.
