Just Not Meant to Be
The train to Centraford was about to depart. That was the ride we'd spent our entire life savings—30 thousand bucks—to get a ticket for.
I was gripping my mate, Byron Reynolds's, hand tightly, trying to pull him onto the last train to Centraford.
This was the chance I'd waited three long years for. Once we entered Centraford, we could rise from being low-tier civilian werewolves to official Silvren Talons workers—registered, salaried, and numbered.
If we missed this train, we'd be stuck forever in Sidersville, a chaotic melting pot, never able to enter the heart of the werewolf city-state.
But Byron held us back, refusing to leave without Lisa Peters, who was still down by the river, was
Sikat na Kabanata