The wind had a different voice tonight.
It wasn’t the usual whisper through trees or the low rustle of life pressing against Spring Hollows. No, tonight the wind howled—not with cold or warning, but with memory. I pulled my jacket tighter around me as I crossed the old path behind my house, crunching frost-laced leaves underfoot. The only place I can walk is with the pack looming over my head.
The moon hung heavy and low, bleeding pale light into the woods like it was trying to speak.
Something was off. It had been all day.
The birds hadn’t sung this morning. The shadows stretched too far in the afternoon. Even the wolves kept to the trees, quiet and alert, eyes catching mine with unspoken concern.
I should’ve stayed inside.
But the silence in the house was unbearable. My parents tri
