"What in the world?" Avery mutters, stopping near one of the claw marks. He leans closer toward it, squinting, trying to find any sign that they might just be painted on or faked because they have to be. The sorts of things that could make that kind of gash in a wall like that or could burrow through the walls or make the world seem colder or any of this weird crap have to be fake.

"I didn't figure you to be the kind of guy for elaborate jokes," Avery says, struggling to keep his voice even.