The door began sliding shut when there was a commotion by the entrance of the hotel. Bjorn peered out, hoping the receptionist Osborn Wilson, Nita’s son, and Bjorn’s third cousin, would be too focused on whatever was going on to notice him.
A panting young man was standing in the middle of the lobby. His dark hair was pointing in every possible direction, and not in an artfully styled way. His jeans were paint-stained and tattered, his black shirt had a T-Rex tangled up in Christmas lights and the text Tree Rex in large block letters despite it being April. His black-rimmed glasses sat askew on his nose. He was on the thin side, shorter than Bjorn, but most people were.
Bjorn grinned, but then a pack of wolves pushed through the door and the grin died a quick death. What were they doing
