CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
The light filtering through the canopy is a dappled dance of shadows and sunbeams, flickering over the dewy underbrush as we move. The crisp scent of pine needles crushed underfoot mingles with the musk of damp earth—a heady reminder that the packhouse, with its walls and warmth, is no longer our sanctuary. We weave through the woods, silent phantoms flitting from one cover of trees to the next, the weight of our situation pressing down on me like the heavy backpack strapped across my shoulders.
Max strides ahead, his movements precise and fluid. His brown hair catches in the stray threads of light, a soft contrast to the stern set of his jaw. I watch the muscles in his back tense and relax beneath his fitted shirt, a rhythm that draws me in, syncopating with my own st
