MasukNot just because she lacks patience but because waiting implies restraint. And restraint, when you already know the truth, feels suspiciously like lying. She stands at the edge of the terrace, moonlight pooling at her feet, hands clasped behind her back like she’s holding herself still by force. Th
Raph and I don’t speak when the forest starts to lean. We don’t need to. Travelling together teaches you the difference between being quiet and listening. This isn’t the calm kind where the world breathes evenly, and you let yourself believe you’re safe for another mile or two. This is the kind wh
I don’t make mistakes with scents. That’s the first thing Nolan ever taught me. Anyone can follow a trail when it’s fresh, when fear is loud, and blood is hot. But knowing a scent, recognizing it after months, after distance, after it’s been layered with other packs and other lands, that takes dis
Pearl figured it out, though. She ran. The dead approve of that part. They disapprove of who she’s running from and, apparently, the companion she is running with. Nathan enters a moment later. He looks as tired as Mark does, and I wonder if Lorn seems as exhausted as they do. Not physically—men
The dead don’t mourn the way the living do. They don’t cry. They don’t cling. They don’t spiral into what-ifs and maybes. They remember. And lately, everything they remember keeps circling back to Pearl. Not because she’s gone. Because she’s running. I wake before dawn with that truth already
“No,” Raph corrects, voice dark and edged. “This is who grief has made him. Not who he truly is.” I want to believe him. I want to cling to that truth. But the memory of Tristan’s voice, cold, distant, dangerous, paints itself over everything. I wipe my face with the back of my hand. “He thinks I







