CHAPTER EIGHTY-NINE
The scents of pine and damp earth intermingle as I meander through the forest, my thoughts a tangled snarl as knotty as the roots underfoot. The Silver Paws territory is usually a refuge, but today it's a prison of my own making, the trees whispering Tristan’s betrayal with every rustle of their leaves. How could I not have seen it? The memories of his light brown hair and hazel eyes, once a comfort, now twist in my gut like thorns.
I pause at the edge of a clearing where Magnolia stands, her silhouette framed by the setting sun. The light spills over her, turning her into a vision of golden warmth—a stark contrast to the coldness settling in my heart. I watch her for a moment, admiring how she moves with such natural grace, a dance with the wind that only she hears.
