The woods only offer a temporary escape, a place where Cyan runs until his lungs burn and his muscles scream, a desperate attempt to outrun the gnawing emptiness inside me.
But the quiet fury that propels me through the trees eventually gives way to a bone-deep exhaustion, and I am forced to return to the suffocating reality of the pack house.
Zara is waiting. Of course she is. I've been gone for about a day, approximately, which is not my nature, so if course she'll be waiting.
Her face, usually so composed, is etched with worry, her eyes red-rimmed like she'd been crying.
As I step through the door, the scent of her anxiety thick in the air, she rushes towards me, her arms outstretched.
Instinctively, I flinch, a raw, visceral reaction I can’t control. I shove her away, not hard,
