Hundred Twenty-Four: This Is The End.

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The room had turned pitch black.

The door was nowhere in sight, I had been trapped by walls and ceilings that had fallen all around me. There was no way to make it past the debris—it looked like the end. Perhaps, it was the end.

I lifted my gaze to the flames which licked the walls hungrily. One second, I was sitting behind the desk, doing as my brother told me and watching his Pack until he returned and the next, there were just thus inescapable flames that had risen out of nowhere.

Of course it happened today. Of course, this had something to do with my bad luck. I thought I could do one thing, I thought I could do this but everywhere I went, the misfortune just seemed to follow.

I watched the whole Packhouse crumble to the ground through my hazy eyes. What would I tell Denver—this wasn't my home, this was his home. These were his people, this was his chambers, his bed, his walls.

Everything he'd built since our parents died, everything was no more.

I just sat there, at the