CHAPTER FIFTY
The weight of the canvas bag digs into my shoulder, heavy with supplies but heavier with promises. Jake stands beside me, his own bag slung across his lean torso, his gaze steady on the horizon beyond the pack's border. The scent of sagebrush rides the air, mingling with the musk of wolves preparing to part ways.
"Time to go," he says, voice low as if speaking to the wind itself.
"Wait," I murmur. Turning back, I face the pack—the family I've known all my life. Their eyes, reflecting the desert sun, hold stories of battles fought and nights under the endless sky. "I'll be back," I promise, though the words taste uncertain on my tongue.
"Be safe, Lily," Marla steps forward, her hug brief but fierce. Others nod, some touch my arm, a silent language of goodwill. But it's Rya
