Lucas’s POV
The moment the wind shifted, I knew.
It wasn’t logic, It wasn’t strategy. It wasn’t even scent, not at first. It was instinct—raw and screaming—like every molecule of my blood turned toward the same direction at once, pointing east like a compass forged from something older than flesh. Something primal. Something that whispered: ‘He’s near.’
I had been running for hours. Not blindly—not like before when rage had blurred the edges of my vision and all I could see was Selina’s face, her silence, her betrayal—but with focus now. Purpose. The woods stretched endlessly before me, shadows moving like beasts between the trees, but I saw through all of it. My wolf, once fractured and howling inside me, was silent now—but not because he was gone. He was watching. Calculating. Poised like a blade waiting to strike.
And the air told us where to go.
A trace. Not blood. Not even fear.
But something smaller, more delicate. The way a memory lingers in a child’s room, in a worn t-shirt,
