Rafael's Point of View
The walk back to the pack house feels longer than it should. Maybe because I do not want it to end.
Octavia walks beside me, she is quiet now, her arms folded loosely across her chest. The moonlight catches in her hair, and I cannot stop myself from glancing at her, at the way she moves, the way she keeps her chin high even when she is clearly exhausted.
She has been through hell today, we all have, but she carries it like she always does. Silently, stubbornly, like she is afraid that if she lets herself falter even for a second, everything will come apart.
I know that feeling too well.
When we reach the pack house steps, she turns towards me. “Thanks for walking with me,” she says softly.
“Anytime,” I answer, and I mean it.
She gives me that small, half smile
