Moving through the dense forest was as natural to me as breathing. I navigated the thick brush with practiced ease, stepping over jagged roots and ducking beneath low-hanging canopy without breaking my stride. Behind me, the distant woods echoed with the chaotic sounds of the other pack girls.
They were tripping over basic tree branches, their expensive, impractical clothes snagging on thorns as they screamed wildly at every little scratch.
I paused, bending over a patch of damp earth near the base of a massive oak tree. My eyes locked onto the slender, hollow green shoots pushing through the soil. I pulled them up by the roots, a familiar scent hitting my nose. Wild green onions.
During my two years spent running with the rogues, survival hadn't been a game—it had been a daily necessit
