CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
The musty scent of the safe house clings to my nostrils, a stark contrast to the sterile air that used to fill our pack house. I sit cross-legged on the dusty floor, listening to Ezra's voice rumble through the bare room. His presence commands attention, even more so now, in the face of uncertainty.
"Listen up," he says, his tone leaving no room for argument. "We're not going to survive if we stay in the city. We head for the country at dawn and start anew. Fresh territory, fresh start."
I catch Max's gaze from across the circle; his hazel eyes are stormy, reflecting the inner turmoil I feel churning within me. The idea of fleeing tugs at the edges of my resolve. It feels like surrendering, like abandoning our home to the encroaching threat of the human government.
