RUNNING INTO THE FOREST

Selena

"I didn’t do it."

I whispered it to myself, over and over, the words almost losing meaning in the cold night air. But the forest didn’t answer. No one did.

The accusation clung to me like a shadow, dark and heavy.

I kept walking, my boots crunching on dry leaves and broken twigs, deeper and deeper into the wild. The trees around me grew thicker, like a wall closing in, and the moon hung high above—cold and distant.

Why did they all believe her? Helena? My own sister? That I was a traitor, a liar, a danger to the pack?

My mind twisted back to long ago—before pain, before exile.

“I was four years old,” I said softly, my voice almost lost in the night. “Maybe a little older. Helena was just two, and she was with my mother’s sister that day.”

I swallowed hard, trying to push back the flood of memories.

“My mother told me to hide. She said it was for my own safety—that I should stay quiet, stay out of sight until everything was safe again. I thought I was doing exactly what she want