I left before the sun came up.
It wasn't an escape; it was a retreat. I didn't steal a car or run through the woods. I just walked out the side door of the East Wing, past the sleeping guards who didn't even twitch as I passed likely under strict orders from their Alpha to let the witch go if she wanted to go and walked the three miles back to Oakhaven.
My ankle throbbed with every step, a dull, rhythmic reminder of the chaos of the last forty-eight hours. But the physical pain was grounding. It was real. It was better than the phantom sensation of Guilermo’s hands on my hips, or the echo of Ibbie’s screaming voice.
The words looped in my head like a broken record, syncing with the crunch of gravel under my boots.
By the time I reached the town limits, the sky was a pale, sickly yellow
