Nana slowly sneaks out of the packhouse, clutching her sides, her body trembling from exhaustion. Her fever burns like fire, and her mind is foggy, but she keeps moving, driven by instinct.
“Where the hell am I even going?” she mutters under her breath, her voice hoarse. “I can’t even shift… Lana’s too damn weak to help me sniff my way to him.”
Her steps are slow and shaky, but she follows the faint pull deep in her chest. Lowell’s scent lingers in the air, faint but enough to guide her. She stumbles occasionally, cursing at every root and rock in her way.
“Damn it, Mate, how far are you?” she groans. Her legs feel like they’re made of lead, her head pounding harder with every step.
Finally, she spots a small, rundown hut far ahead. It looks like it’s been abandoned for years, bu
