CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I push through the underbrush, my heart a syncopated rhythm against my ribs. The soft rustle of leaves and the distant chirping of birds are familiar tunes in this vast, verdant symphony. Each step is purposeful, an act of silent rebellion against the pack that sees me as less than I am. Because although I cannot shift, my spirit is untamed, and today, it leads me to the waterfall where I'm supposed to meet Jackson.
"Come on, Grace," I whisper to myself, "he'll be there."
The forest canopy filters the light into golden streams that dance upon the path ahead. My black hair catches stray glimmers as if weaving starlight into its strands, while my brown eyes, usually full of warmth, now burn with a mix of anticipation and defiance.
I know what they say about me back home—
