The silence lingered long after the morning light had settled. Not the kind that comforted—it was the kind that pressed in around you, thick and unspoken. The kind that buzzed just beneath the surface, filled with all the words people were too afraid to say aloud.

  I shifted, the blanket still tangled around my legs, and found his eyes on me again. Steady. Unmoving. He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. Just that presence, quiet and unwavering, held me up more than I wanted to admit.

  But beyond him, the others weren’t as silent in spirit. They kept their distance, but I could feel them—those looks. The glances that flickered and then stayed too long. Not cruel, not exactly. Just… uncertain. Wary. Like they were still trying to decide what I was now, or maybe what I wasn’t anymore.

  I didn’t blame them.

  I hadn’t spoken since the night before. Not really. Not to anyone but him. And I didn’t know how to explain what had broken open in me, or what it meant. I didn’t even know what I’d seen in myself yet.

  So I let the silence stay.

  Let them wonder.

  Let myself breathe.

  Even if it was with the weight of their eyes on my back.

  ——

  Morning moved slow.

  We didn’t speak. Just shifted—one by one—beneath the trees. Fur rippling over skin, bones folding and reshaping with quiet, practiced grace. No words. No fuss. Just the rhythm of what had to be done.

  Then paws met earth, and the world hushed.

  The forest wasn’t silent, but it wasn’t loud either. Leaves rustled in breezes I couldn’t feel. Branches creaked overhead like they knew we were here and weren’t sure if we should be. There was no danger. Not yet. But something was off. Not sharp enough to call a threat—just that subtle wrongness that made you listen harder. Watch more closely.

  We moved together, but it didn’t feel close. No brushing shoulders. No playful snaps or shared glances. Just the space between us—stretched wider than it looked.

  I stayed near the front. Apolloh flanked me, his presence steady like always. I didn’t look at him, but I knew he was there. Knew I wasn’t alone, even when it felt like it.

  Behind us, Zia’s gait was precise. Caelen’s was quieter than I expected. Jaxe lagged a little, still shaking off sleep, maybe more.

  We’d left the Virellen’Shai behind, but I could still feel it humming somewhere inside me. A faint vibration under my ribs, like a thread that hadn’t been cut clean through.

  I didn’t speak of it.

  I just ran.

  And they followed.

  ——

  The trees began to change as the sun climbed.

  Not in any obvious way—just little things. Bark that looked smoother than it should. Leaves that didn’t rustle when the wind passed through. Shadows that stretched too far, even though the light wasn’t sharp enough to cast them like that.

  I slowed without meaning to. Just a half-step. Just enough for Apolloh to glance my way.

  I didn’t meet his eyes.

  The others adjusted behind me, instinct keeping our formation intact. No one spoke—not with words, not even through the old instincts we used when hunting. Whatever this place was, it didn’t welcome noise.

  It didn’t warn us, either. That was the part I hated most. No cries from birds. No crackle of movement in the underbrush. Just the stillness of a place that wasn’t empty—but didn’t want to be known.

  I kept going.

  There was something up ahead. A break in the trees, maybe. A slope or a clearing. I couldn’t quite see it, but the light was different there—warmer, thicker, like it had settled instead of shining.

  My hackles lifted before I could stop them.

  I didn’t pause. Just pressed forward, careful, quiet. Whatever waited there, it hadn’t shown itself. And maybe it never would.

  But I wanted eyes on it before we got too close.

  ——

  The trees thinned all at once.

  One moment we were wrapped in shadows and the hum of quiet things, and the next, the ground dipped and opened into a wide, low clearing. The light here was strange—amber and slow, like it was filtered through something I couldn’t see. It didn’t feel warm. It felt… watched.

  I stepped in first, paws sinking slightly into the soft moss. The earth here wasn’t like the path behind us. It was spongy, like it had been untouched for too long, like no weight had passed through in years—but I knew that wasn’t true. I could smell it. Not fresh. Not old. Just… wrong.

  Apolloh came up beside me, his fur brushing mine for just a second. A reminder. Or maybe a question.

  I gave no answer. Just kept walking, slow and low to the ground. My ears turned forward, then back. I could feel the others hesitating at the tree line, but one by one, they followed.

  No one spoke.

  No birds. No wind. No sign of anything living. Just us, and the quiet that wrapped around us like breath held too long.

  I moved to the center of the clearing and stopped.

  The others fanned out slightly, keeping distance but close enough to move if needed. I turned in a slow circle, scanning the tree line, the sky, the ground beneath us.

  Nothing.

  But everything in me said don’t stay here long.

  I didn’t know if it was the remnants of the glass still humming under my ribs or something else entirely. But this place wasn’t meant for us.

  We needed to move.

  Soon.

  ——

  Nothing moved.

  No threat. No sign. No reason to stay.

  I flicked an ear back toward the others and turned without waiting. Behind me, I felt their response—not words, but presence shifting in rhythm with mine. A silent agreement. A shared understanding.

  We left the clearing behind.

  Back into the trees, where the shadows felt more familiar, where the silence didn’t cut quite as deep. The terrain began to slope again, shallow at first, then steeper. The earth turned from moss to rock, the path narrowing between outcroppings and roots.

  The further we went, the more the world changed. Not in ways that screamed wrong, just… offbeat. The kind of shift you didn’t notice until you realized your pace had slowed. Until you realized you were holding your breath without meaning to.

  None of us made a sound.

  We just kept moving.

  Eyes ahead.

  Ears twitching.

  And the hum—faint and restless—still curled beneath my ribs like it was waiting for something.

  ——

  The climb grew sharper.

  Not dangerous, not yet—but enough to shift the way we moved. Slower. More careful. Rocks loosened under our paws, and roots snagged where they hadn’t before. The forest here wasn’t thick, but it was close. Watching, maybe. Or just listening.

  I didn’t like the way the wind moved through it.

  It didn’t carry scent like it should. Everything felt… filtered. Like we were walking through someone else’s memory of this place, not the place itself.

  Behind me, I could feel the others adjusting—bodies tilting, steps shortening, silence stretching thin. No one faltered. But I knew they felt it too. That same distant pressure. That wrongness just barely out of reach.

  Then, all at once, the trees thinned again—less abrupt this time, but noticeable. The slope leveled out, and we came to a ridgeline of stone that looked over a shallow valley below. Not wide. Not deep. But open. Exposed.

  I stopped at the edge, my paws settling on the cold rock. Waited.

  The wind touched my fur, light and strange, and for a moment I wasn’t sure if it had fingers.

  ——

  We stayed there.

  Not long. Just enough for breath to even out, for the weight of the climb to settle into our limbs. The stone beneath me was cool and solid, unmoving in a way that made me feel smaller than usual. But safe, too.

  The valley below stretched wide and muted. No movement. No smoke. No sign of life. Just trees. Rock. A stream cutting through the center, glinting like a thread pulled too tight.

  I let myself sit—not collapse, just fold down gently, my body resting against the cold.

  Apolloh didn’t move far. He stood to my left, eyes scanning the same horizon. I didn’t need to look to know his ears were turned toward me.

  Zia approached from the other side. Slow, measured steps. She didn’t stop too close, didn’t ask anything with her presence. Just settled in a few feet away, upright, steady.

  The others lingered behind. Some pacing along the ridge. Jaxe lay down, chin on his paws. Caelen stood like a statue, unreadable.

  It wasn’t peace. But it was quiet.

  And for the first time since the Virellen’Shai, I let my jaw unclench. Let my shoulders drop, just slightly. Let myself exist in a moment that wasn’t full of warnings.

  Even if it wouldn’t last.

  ——

  The wind shifted.

  Not sharply. Just enough to carry the scent of damp stone and pine up from the valley. Faint, but new.

  I lifted my head.

  Behind me, claws scraped lightly on rock—movement, but not urgency. Just readiness. The kind of stillness right before something gives.

  Caelen: It’s time.

  No push in the words. Just the fact of it.

  I stood, bones stiff from stillness, and gave a small shake to clear the ache. Apolloh followed, close behind. Zia rose without a sound.

  Jaxe stretched, long and low, before falling into step. The others moved in silence, one by one falling into formation—not rigid, not formal. Just together.

  The valley waited below.

  I didn’t know what was waiting in it, but we would find out soon enough.

  So we went.

  Quiet. Watchful.

  Down the ridge. Into the hush.

  ——

  The descent was slow.

  Not because the path was treacherous, but because every stone felt like it held a secret. The kind you didn’t want to wake. The stream below called to us with its quiet voice—constant, soft, threading through the valley like a pulse.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  We crossed it one by one.

  The water was cold against my paws, clear enough to see the pale stones beneath. For a breath, I paused in the center, letting it wash over my skin like it might rinse away whatever clung to me still.

  Then I moved on.

  The trees here were older. Not taller, not thicker—but they carried a weight. A presence. Some were split down the center, hollowed out not by time but something else. Some leaned together like they were whispering. Watching.

  We didn’t speak.

  We didn’t need to.

  Even without words, I could feel the tension shifting—not growing, not breaking. Just… changing. Like we were getting closer to something we hadn’t yet defined.

  I glanced back once, catching sight of Jaxe’s ears flicking toward a sound none of us reacted to. Zia’s head turned a beat after. Caelen’s pace didn’t change.

  We kept moving.

  And the hush moved with us.

  ——

  It started with the light.

  Not a flash. Not a change in the sky. Just… the way it hit the ground.

  One moment it was soft and slanted, threading through the canopy like always. The next, it felt filtered. Muted. Like something had stepped between us and the sun—but not the clouds.

  I slowed.

  Not enough to make the others stumble. Just enough to feel the difference.

  The moss beneath my paws had turned brittle. Gray in places. Like it had been drained.

  Apolloh moved closer, his shoulder brushing mine for a breath before drifting apart again.

  Ahead, the trees thinned again, revealing a hollow cut into the earth. Shallow. Wide. Empty.

  We circled it from above, paws quiet on stone. No one suggested going down.

  Something about it felt… paused. Like the land had inhaled but never exhaled.

  I didn’t stop long. None of us did.

  But the silence thickened as we passed.

  And even though the path ahead was clear, I couldn’t help but glance back.

  Just once.

  The hollow was still there.

  Waiting.

  ——

  The path didn’t twist. It should have.

  The land ahead sloped gently upward again, but the curve of the earth felt… off. Like we were being guided without knowing it. Like something had carved this trail long before we arrived and hadn’t expected us to notice.

  No one looked back at the hollow.

  But I knew we all felt it. Still clinging to our fur like mist.

  The trees grew thinner, their branches reaching farther than they should’ve. Some bent low, curling like they were trying to touch us. Or stop us. Or remember us.

  I kept my head low. Ears forward. Eyes scanning.

  Fog started to gather—thin at first, just enough to soften the edges of things. Enough to make it hard to tell if shapes ahead were trees or something else. It clung to the ground, not rising, not shifting. Still.

  I didn’t like that it didn’t move.

  We pressed on.

  Paws brushing through the cold damp. The air here was different. Sharper. Like something waiting to be breathed in but didn’t belong in lungs.

  Still, we moved.

  And somewhere just ahead, hidden in the fog, I felt the path waiting to shift again.

  ——

  The fog thickened without warning.

  Not suddenly, not like a wall—just gradually, until even the trees a few steps ahead looked blurred, their outlines smudged like someone had drawn them with shaking hands.

  The ground beneath us shifted too.

  Not drastically. But it changed from soft moss to something harder. Flattened. Etched.

  Stone.

  Cracks ran beneath the fog in quiet patterns—too even to be natural, too faint to be fresh. Just enough to say someone was here once. Someone who knew how to carve silence into the earth.

  We slowed, unconsciously.

  The air smelled different now.

  Faint iron. A tang of something old, like wet metal and ash—years gone, but clinging to the stone like breath that had never left.

  No one spoke.

  No one had to.

  The fog didn’t move around us anymore. It stayed where it was. Still. Watching.

  I stepped lightly. Carefully.

  And the further we went, the more it felt like the stone beneath us had a rhythm. Like our paws were walking along the spine of something ancient.

  Something that hadn’t woken yet.

  But might.

  ——

  We didn’t speak.

  We didn’t stop.

  The stone path curved slowly, like it had been laid out with intention. Not in a straight line—never straight—but winding, just enough to make you question your direction. Just enough to keep you glancing sideways to make sure the others were still there.

  The cracks deepened the farther we went.

  Some split into spirals. Others into symbols I didn’t recognize. They weren’t fresh, but they weren’t worn down by time either. They just were—like the stone had always held them.

  Zia veered slightly to the left, eyes fixed on something I couldn’t see at first.

  Then I saw it too.

  A single column. Half-buried. Broken off just above my shoulder. Covered in moss that wasn’t green anymore—ashen, like it had been burned, then forgotten.

  None of us touched it.

  A soft sound came from ahead.

  Not sharp. Not animal. Just… movement. The faint drag of something against stone.

  Everyone stilled.

  A beat.

  Two.

  Then Caelen moved forward, slow and deliberate.

  We followed.

  Eyes sharp. Ears turned forward.

  Whatever had passed through the fog wasn’t waiting for us. But it had been there.

  And it knew we were now.

  ——

  The sound didn’t come again.

  But it left something behind in its place—a kind of alertness. Like the air was watching. Listening.

  We moved quieter after that.

  Even our breathing felt too loud.

  The path narrowed slightly, and the fog thickened in small bursts—patches of white that swallowed trees whole, then thinned again like nothing had been there at all. It made distance hard to judge. Made the world feel closer than it should’ve been.

  Somewhere behind me, Jaxe huffed.

  Not annoyed.

  Not afraid.

  Just… unsettled.

  We kept going.

  The stone gave way to earth again—dry, cracked soil, brittle with the memory of fire. No ash. No scent of burning. Just ground that didn’t remember how to grow anything anymore.

  The trees changed too.

  Fewer branches. No leaves. Bark split like old scars. They looked more like silhouettes than trees, half-real in the fog. Reaching, but not for the sky.

  Apolloh pressed forward, steady.

  I followed.

  My paws hit something beneath the soil—flat. Smooth. Another stone, hidden just below the surface. I didn’t stop to look.

  Didn’t want to.

  There was no wind. No birds. Not even the faint hum of distant life.

  Just us.

  Moving.

  Step by step into the quiet.

  ——

  The fog didn’t thin so much as it broke.

  One moment it was all around us—soft, clinging, endless—and the next, we stepped through it like a veil.

  The land opened wide.

  A clearing. Not clean or circular, just… cleared. The earth here was dry and split, like it had been clawed apart from beneath. Long trenches in the soil. Some shallow. Some deep enough to lose a body in.

  Nothing grew here.

  No grass. No moss. Just the broken scars of earth and stone.

  The sky above was gray, heavy but dry. The kind of gray that doesn’t promise rain, just watches.

  We spread out slowly, eyes sweeping the ground.

  There were no markers. No structures. But something had happened here.

  Not recently.

  But not long enough ago to be forgotten.

  Caelen moved to one of the trenches, peering down without a word. Zia circled wider, ears flicking. Jaxe stayed near the edge, not frozen, just still—like he didn’t want to know what had made this place.

  Apolloh stopped beside me.

  I didn’t look at him.

  Didn’t need to.

  My gaze stayed forward, fixed on the far end of the clearing where the fog curled low along the ground—like it was afraid to cross this space entirely.

  Whatever had done this wasn’t here now.

  But it had left something behind.

  And the silence no longer felt like silence.

  It felt like waiting.

  ——

  I stepped closer to the nearest trench.

  It wasn’t just torn earth. The sides were scorched—faint, like something had burned downward, not outward. But there was no ash. No remains. Just heat left behind in the shape of absence.

  Caelen: Something was pulled through.

  His voice—no, not voice. That sense of him—steady, watchful—settled around the words like frost. He didn’t look at me. He just stared deeper into the trench, as if he expected to see the end of it open into something else entirely.

  Zia didn’t speak.

  But I felt her circle tighten.

  She didn’t like this place.

  Neither did I.

  Apolloh’s presence was steady beside me. But even he seemed heavier. More grounded. Like something here pressed down on the soul, not the body.

  Jaxe moved first.

  Not far. Just a few steps beyond the clearing’s edge. Enough to look forward. Enough to say: We should keep going.

  And he was right.

  We didn’t belong here.

  Whatever this place had been, whatever had been taken or buried or broken—it wasn’t for us. Not now. Not yet.

  I turned from the trench.

  Fog waited for us again.

  We slipped into it like ghosts, one by one. The clearing vanished behind us without a sound. Like it had never existed.

  But I could still feel it.

  Gnawing at the edge of thought.

  We moved on.

  And the earth changed again.

  ——

  The fog swallowed us again.

  But this time, it didn’t stay the same.

  The earth beneath our paws shifted from dry to dense. Not quite mud—just thick. Heavy with old weight. Then came the stone again, but not like before. This wasn’t carved or smooth. It was broken.

  Jagged ridges jutted from the ground at angles too sharp to be natural, but too chaotic to be made with purpose. Some were the height of trees. Some barely stuck out of the dirt. We moved carefully, threading between them, brushing close but never touching.

  They hummed.

  Low. Barely audible. More like something you felt in your bones than heard with your ears.

  No one said anything.

  Even our breath felt like a trespass.

  Eventually, the rocks fell away into a dip in the land—sunken, gradual, a bowl of earth slowly swallowing itself. The trees here were hunched and twisted, branches crawling down instead of up. Roots coiled over the sunken ground like veins.

  The fog thinned just enough to reveal the overgrowth.

  Thick vines. Dark green, too dark. Some moved—swayed—but there was no wind.

  I stepped lightly.

  The ground wasn’t stone anymore. It was a floor.

  Not wooden. Not tiled.

  Just flat. Buried.

  Something ancient stretched beneath the moss and vines—edges of architecture just barely visible, half-swallowed by time and nature and whatever force had twisted this place into forgetting.

  Caelen paused near a half-collapsed arch, the stone choked by roots. Zia pressed her nose to the ground near what might’ve once been a step, silent.

  Apolloh looked up.

  So I did too.

  Above us, the canopy broke—just slightly. A slice of gray sky visible between warped branches. The air shifted. Not wind. Just… change.

  Like something had seen us.

  Like something remembered.

  I swallowed that feeling and moved on.

  We all did.

  Because whatever this place had been, it was still listening.

  ——

  We left the ruins behind.

  No one said anything. Not aloud. Not in the way that counted.

  But a little ways into the trees—just as the last of the vines fell away behind us—I felt it.

  Jaxe: If one more vine touches my tail, I’m burning this whole forest down.

  Zia didn’t respond, but the shift in her steps said she heard it. So did Caelen, whose pause was just long enough to be either judgment or amusement.

  Jaxe: I mean it. I think one of them grabbed me. That one back there? It had intent.

  Apolloh didn’t look back. But I caught the small flick of his ear, the tiniest tilt of attention.

  Caelen: You’re fine.

  Jaxe: Am I, though? Spiritually? Emotionally? My tail has trauma now.

  I huffed without meaning to. Just a soft sound, buried in breath, but it pulled something loose in my chest.

  The silence didn’t shatter.

  But it cracked. Just enough.

  We kept moving.

  The forest here was less dense. The fog stayed low, clinging to our ankles, but the air felt easier. Whatever had watched us back there… it wasn’t here now.

  Still, we didn’t slow.

  We didn’t rest.

  Not yet.

  ——

  Jaxe: I just think we should all agree that someone owes me a new tail brush after this.

  No one responded. Not out of malice—just endurance. But that never stopped him.

  Jaxe: And for the record, if I die out here, I want it known that it was death by inconvenience.

  Zia: You’re not going to die.

  Jaxe: Yet. I’m not going to die yet.

  Caelen: You’re not going to die.

  Jaxe: Bold of you to assume the forest doesn’t hold a grudge.

  Apolloh didn’t comment, but I could feel the faint pulse of amusement ripple through the rest of us—quiet, shared, like a heartbeat under the skin.

  Jaxe: And honestly? If a clearing doesn’t show up soon, I’m digging a personal pit and calling it a day.

  As if summoned by sarcasm, the woods broke again.

  A clearing.

  Real this time. Wide, ringed by stones that looked old but untouched. The fog didn’t press as hard here. The trees leaned out instead of in.

  We stepped in slowly, senses alert—but nothing stirred.

  Safe enough.

  One by one, we shifted—fur folding into skin, breath sharpening back into mouths and lungs and cold air that hit harder without coats.

  No words at first.

  Just the quiet sounds of movement—packs being lowered, fire being sparked, shoulders stretching. The scent of bark and distant rain.

  It felt… possible. To rest here.

  Even if just for a little while.

  Jaxe sat down on a flat rock like it had personally offended him.

  “I stand by the pit idea,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Or maybe a throne. Something dramatic. I think I’ve earned that.”

  Apolloh raised an eyebrow. “You want to be king of the damp?”

  “If it gets me off the moss? Absolutely.”

  Zia actually smiled—just a little. Caelen shook his head and started setting up a small perimeter.

  I didn’t speak.

  But I watched them.

  And for the first time since we’d started this part of the journey… it felt like us again.

  If only for now.

  ——

  The fire caught fast, despite the damp. Caelen coaxed it into shape with practiced hands while Zia set stones in a loose circle. Jaxe contributed absolutely nothing except dramatic sighs and commentary from his rock-throne.

  “I think,” he said, stretching like a cat who hadn’t been nearly mauled by ancient vines an hour ago, “that this is the first time I’ve ever been grateful for sitting still.”

  Zia didn’t look up. “You never stop moving your mouth.”

  “Exactly. Vital survival strategy.”

  Apolloh handed him a wrapped ration bar. “Here. Chew with purpose.”

  “Is that a polite way of saying shut up?”

  “No.”

  “Is that a lie?”

  I sat beside the fire, knees pulled in, the heat brushing gently up my legs. No one forced anything. It was the kind of quiet that didn’t push. Just let.

  Zia glanced at the treeline. “We’ll need watches tonight.”

  Caelen nodded. “I’ll take first.”

  “I’ll go with you,” she said, simple and sure.

  Jaxe leaned back on his hands, staring into the flames. “Do you think the trench back there was… recent?” His voice dropped a little—still casual, but less playful now.

  Apolloh answered first. “Felt old. But disturbed.”

  “Like something got out,” Jaxe muttered, chewing the edge of the ration bar.

  Zia’s jaw tensed, but she said nothing.

  I stayed quiet too. Because I’d felt it.

  Not just age. Not just ruin.

  Movement.

  A shift of something we couldn’t see, but could feel underfoot. Like memory with teeth.

  Caelen finally spoke. “We’ll deal with what’s ahead.”

  Simple. Unshakeable.

  Like it was the only option.

  And maybe it was.

  The fire popped. Sparks danced upward and vanished into the dark.

  None of us said anything for a while.

  But no one got up.

  And that said enough.

  ~~~

  Most of the others drifted into their own spaces. Jaxe laid flat on his back with one arm over his eyes like the weight of the day had finally caught up to him. Zia and Caelen stayed close to the edge of the clearing, watchful but relaxed. The fire kept low and steady, casting long shadows against the trees.

  Apolloh didn’t say anything when he sat down beside me.

  He didn’t have to.

  His shoulder brushed mine—barely—and stayed there. Just enough to feel. Just enough to say I’m here without the words.

  I didn’t lean into him.

  But I didn’t move away.

  We watched the flames together. Let the silence stretch out between us, not heavy like before—just full. Like breath held in the chest. Like something waiting, but not rushed.

  “I wasn’t sure,” I said quietly. My voice felt strange after all that silence. “If it would still feel like this.”

  He looked at me, eyes steady, expression unreadable. “Like what?”

  “Like home,” I said.

  The word stuck a little in my throat. It tasted strange. Honest.

  Apolloh didn’t answer right away. Just let the firelight catch in his eyes as he watched me.

  Then: “It never stopped.”

  A beat.

  Then he added, even softer, “You just wandered for a bit.”

  I blinked hard. Looked away before whatever was in my chest could spill out across my face.

  And still, we said nothing else.

  But we stayed like that until the fire burned lower.

  Until the stars stretched wider overhead.

  And for the first time in a while, the night didn’t feel so impossible.

  ——

  The fire was just embers when I lay down.

  The others had already settled—Zia posted near the edge, eyes half-lidded but never fully resting. Caelen sat cross-legged a few paces behind her, still as stone. Jaxe had rolled to his side and was mumbling something unintelligible into the crook of his arm. Probably about moss.

  Apolloh stayed close. Not touching, but present. Like he always was, when it mattered.

  Sleep didn’t come fast. My thoughts felt too loud. Too layered. But eventually, the ache in my limbs overruled the rest.

  I let the fire’s last warmth pull me under.

  ~~~

  The next morning came soft.

  Muted sunlight filtered through the canopy, pale and tired. The world felt damp again, but not drowning—just heavy with the weight of things not said.

  We moved without words.

  Shifted back to our wolf forms. The change felt cleaner in the cool air, muscles stretching with familiar ease, paws finding rhythm in the earth.

  No one complained.

  Not even Jaxe.

  The silence wasn’t cold anymore. Just quiet.

  The kind that comes after a storm—not because the danger’s gone, but because it’s already passed over you once.

  And might still turn back.

  We ran with the wind behind us and the trees thinning ahead. Another day. Another stretch of unknowable forest. But for the first time since we crossed the glass, it felt like we weren’t dragging ourselves forward anymore.

  We were going.

  Together.