Ayla’s POV
I almost don’t go. Even after I open the door and step outside, the cold air rushes against my skin—sharp and waking—settling in my lungs like a memory I can’t shake.
I stand there, boots planted in the snow, the packhouse looming behind me, the world stretched out ahead.
It would be so easy to turn around—to pretend I never saw the note, to climb back into bed, to let the silence swallow me again.
No one would stop me. And that’s the problem.
“They’d notice,” Tala says, her voice nudging at my thoughts. “I mean, at least two of them would. Ryker is still working on basic observation skills.”
“I don’t care,” I reply.
“You do,” she says, softer now but with a knowing hum. “You always have. Even if you pretend you’re made of stone.”
I ignore her, but my feet don’t turn bac
