Hope's POV.
The forest blurs around us as Malakar and I make our way back to the den, the medical cooler in his hand swinging slightly with every step. I can hear our feet crunching over dry leaves, feel the cool bite of the night air on my skin, but everything else feels… muffled.
The journey feels longer than it should. Each step heavier, slower - like the trees themselves are dragging their roots across our path, stalling us, holding us in this moment of silence that neither of us dares to break.
Malakar walks just ahead, quiet as always, but I can feel the tension radiating from him. He’s not angry, exactly — not at me — but he’s on edge. We both are. There’s something unspoken between us, hanging in the air like fog, making it harder to breathe.
I can’t stop thinking about Emory.
