She woke before dawn with the decision already made.
Ruth had slept through the night—Sarah reported stable vitals, no distress, just the slow steady progress toward the inevitable. The wolves had departed at their usual time, sometime before first light, leaving their tracks in the snow. Closer than ever. Close enough that Claire could see individual paw prints from the kitchen window, the detailed impression of each pad and claw.
Two days, Sarah had said. Maybe three.
Which meant if Claire was going to do this, it had to be today.
She dressed in layers—the same clothes she'd worn that first day driving from Missoula, a lifetime ago or two weeks depending on how you measured. Thermal base layer, wool sweater, her father's old canvas jacket that she'd found in the closet and that still
