The gym was too bright.
Sera stood behind the front desk, folding towels that didn't need folding, the creases in each square already razor-sharp. Her fingers moved automatically, precise in a way only repetition and rage could achieve. The overhead lights buzzed faintly, and the familiar bass-thump of workout music pulsed through the speakers like a second heartbeat. She tuned it out. Not the sound, but the meaning. It wasn't music today. It was just noise.
Everything was just noise.
Someone laughed near the squat rack. Another slammed a barbell against the mat. Water bottles snapped open. Shoes squeaked. A phone rang. She flinched at none of it—but she heard all of it. Every sound had an edge, and each one grated against the surface of her composure like sandpaper.
The creature inside her was twitchy. Restless. Not hungry, not violent. Just… irritated.
Wrong.
And then, the door opened.
