On our way across the massive expanse of the library, we run into Creed, lazily dragging himself across the room with his hands tucked into his pockets, ice-colored eyes half-lidded and bored senseless. When he sees us, he opens them wide and his jaw drops. “Watch our stuff, Cabot. Keep the Harpy claws off of it.” “Are you serious?!” Creed shouts as we move past him, and I can hear him cursing under his breath
