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Blood of Gato - Chapter 77: LXXVII
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... slouched back as if trying to claim more space than he needed, but his body gave him away — shoulders tight, fingers tapping a nervous rhythm against the armrest.
The doctor said nothing.
Only the dry scratching of her pen — no, not a pen, something sharper — drifted through the room. A faint rasp, like a claw dragging across glass. She wrote quickly, head tilted, eyes fixed somewhere below him, not quite seeing him at all.
Cain’s gaze slid to the little drinking bird on ...
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