The hallway of Beacon Hills High had fallen silent.
The loud crashes that had shaken the building minutes ago were gone. Broken lockers hung open like broken jaws. Glass covered the floor in sharp, glittering pieces. Chunks of concrete and splintered desks lay scattered everywhere. Deep claw marks ran across the walls, some reaching almost to the ceiling. The place looked less like a school and more like the aftermath of a war.
Jax laid down in the middle of this destruction.
His body didn’t move. Blood had soaked through his torn clothes. Fresh claw marks covered his chest, shoulders, and arms. It was deep and making it hard for him to heal. His breathing was weak and uneven, each breath a quiet struggle.
A few minutes later, the sound of a Jeep echoed through the empty parking lot. T
