(Isla)
The Crescent Moon Pack didn’t smell like Silver Creek.
Silver Creek smelled like pine cleaner and Zayden’s cologne and Serena’s vanilla perfume. It smelled like the marble floors they polished every morning until you could see your own fear in them. It smelled like control.
Crescent Moon smelled like rain, wet dirt, and woodsmoke. It smelled like something alive.
I woke up on a cot in the clinic. The sheet was thin but clean, bleached white and scratchy against my skin. My clothes were folded on a chair nearby. The same clothes I ran in. Still dirty. Still smelling like three weeks of ditches and stolen bread and the human bakery I’d hid behind.
My hand went to my stomach first. Habit now. It was flat. Empty. But I still knew. Two weeks gone and it was only a matter of
