The last time I crossed the Southern border, I was still bleeding from what they did to Orin.
This time, I didn’t look back.
Lena kept pace with me through the lower ridge trail. She didn’t ask questions. She didn’t make suggestions. She followed.
The farther we got from Blackthorn, the quieter things became. No guards. No patrols. No pack scent strong enough to track.
Just emptiness.
It didn’t last.
By dusk, we reached the edge of the neutral zone — a run-down stretch of land the older packs used to call the Graves. Nothing grows there. The trees are hollow. The dirt looks burned even when it isn’t.
“Why here?” Lena asked.
I crouched beside a crooked tree and pulled out the paper Kael gave me before I left.
Not the list, a mark.
Drawn from memory — something one of the guards ca
