They buried Marcus and Tomas at dawn, in a quiet clearing a half mile from the shelter, the pack gathering in a loose circle while Damian spoke words that felt too small for the weight of what had happened. Amara stood at the back, the token from Liora heavy in her pocket, feeling like an intruder at a grief that wasn’t hers to share.
Elena wasn’t among them. She’d left before first light with a small team to scout the ridge for somewhere safer to relocate, a gash along her ribs still bound tight under her jacket, though nobody had managed to convince her to rest instead.
Afterward, nobody had the energy left to talk. The pack scattered to pack up what remained of the shelter, and Amara found herself wandering toward the sound of moving water, needing somewhere quiet enough to breathe.
