Undercover Wolf: My Target, My Girlfriend
The fire in the boiler room still burned—a soft crack from the wood, then it continued.
Lane stood in the boiler room, listening to Klaus's footsteps recede outside the door—like ripples spreading from a stone dropped into water, fading. He looked down at the hilt at his waist—Brenn's name still on the cord wrap, pressed beneath his own thumb. His fingertip could feel the grooves of those characters. He didn't draw the blade to check if they were still there. But he knew they were. They lay against his hip bone, warmed by his body heat, pressed against the stabilizing reagent through the fabric. He stood for a moment, then turned, pushed the door open, and walked out.