THE REJECTED LUNA
Outside, the sun was going down, orange light through the curtain cracks fading to blue.
Then we heard it.
Not a truck.
Howls.
One from Wolf Creek, long and low. Harlan’s howl.
Then an answering howl from the north, from past North Ridge, from the woods where the Old Oak was supposed to stand. Deeper. Older.
Then another from the east. Then west.
They were circling.
Jax stopped yelling and went to the window, lifted the curtain a crack, and looked. His shoulders went rigid, every muscle tight.