I closed Wolf’s office door behind me, the click sharper than it should’ve been. My boots hit the hallway floor like punctuation marks—short, clipped, angry. I didn’t say goodbye. Didn’t look back. I couldn’t. Not with Jace still standing there, chin high like he was grown.
He’s fifteen. Fifteen. And Wolf was letting him go to the shed.
I get it. I do. Closure. Power. Healing. All the things Wolf said. But I still see Jace as the kid who flinched when someone raised their voice. The one who sleeps with the light on. The one who shouldn’t have to face Boris again.
I turned the corner into the common room and stopped short. Koda was curled up on the couch, his little feet tucked under Mama Red’s thigh. My mom sat beside them, her knitting needles paused mid-stitch. The room smelled like c
