Reclamation: K.C.
The drive back up the mountain felt different this time. The air felt thinner, crisper, and it felt like I was approaching a driveway to a home rather than a fortress. Tess sat in the passenger seat of my old pick-up, her window cracked to let in the scent of pine and damp earth. She looked more rested than she had since this whole thing started. Her gaze traced the ridge lines with a curiosity that lacked its usual guarded edge. Behind us, the wolves followed in Grant’s truck, carrying grocery bags — actual food, not survival rations and quick prep meals. As we broke the tree line and the cabin came into view, the sound of hammers greeted us. “They’ve been busy,” Tess noted, a small smile playing on her lips. It was an understatement. The broken front door had been replaced with a h
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