It’s him—the wolf who drove me to see Grandma that rainy night in his rugged Land Rover. Despite the storm and darkness, he’d rolled down his window, asked what was wrong, and got me to the hospital. I’d memorized his strong features, leaving all my cash in his car as thanks.
“I’m Mitchell Arden,” he says.
“Elena. Thank you for saving me. We met before—you drove me to the hospital back home, remember?”
He smiles. “I remember. Didn’t expect to see you again.”
He’d been on leave that night, spotting me frantic on the roadside. I was a mess, on the verge of breaking, so he took me where I needed to go. Later, he found the cash I’d left.
“Stay safe,” he says quickly, turning back to his mission.
I refocus, diving back into saving lives.
The next day, a tall wolf in olive-green peacekeep
