"Who are they?" William whispered, forcing himself to breathe quieter, straining to catch through the silence the measured groan of floorboards under someone else's steps beyond the door. He felt like every thud of his heart was loud enough to betray them.
The girl cut him a sharp glance and curled her lips in disgust before hissing back:
"They're Skinners. They're hunting for my hide… well, not mine exactly—Edward's."
Her claws sprang out with a metallic snap, and her eyes flashed white—her pupils swallowed whole, leaving only pale, depthless voids.
"Skin… what?" William blurted out, a touch too loud, unable to stop himself.
She seethed, pressing a scorching palm over his mouth.
"Quiet, idiot!" Her whisper was pure venom, her breath hot against his cheek. "If they hear us, we're already dead. Skinners—simpler to think of them as hunters. Hounds on leashes, owned by collectors and other depraved elites. They fetch skins. Skins of 'phenomena' like me… or you."
