SLOANE
It was New Year’s Eve.
The kind of cold that bit into your skin and stayed there. The kind that made your breath look thick when you exhaled. Snow rested on the trees like quiet secrets, heavy and white, covering the ground around the Aragon pack lands.
I left the pack house just after sunrise.
I didn’t tell anyone where I was going. I didn’t need to. Everyone already knew. When things got too loud inside my chest, I always went to my father.
After the stunt Adrian pulled yesterday, neither of us had spoken.
Not a word.
No good morning.
No stiff nod in the hallway.
No forced smile for the pack.
Nothing.
If I didn’t know better, I would’ve said he was avoiding me.
And that thought hurt more than I wanted to admit.
The drive to my father’s small house was quiet. Too quiet
