Evans’ POV
As I ran, the wind howled through the tall trees, their branches reaching toward the sky like skeletal hands, and the night air felt harsh against my skin. Even though my legs hurt and my lungs burned, I continued. I was unable to. Not when every instinct told me I needed to leave.
My nose were flooded with the smell of moist dirt, but beneath it was something more, something old, something familiar. Whispering to me in a voice I couldn't quite understand, it curled about me and pulled me onward. Before I left the dungeon, my fingers clenched around the cloak I had taken from the supply tent. I *knew* where I was heading, even if every step took me farther into uncharted terrain.
The Pack of Nightclaws.
Even though I didn't know why, I felt compelled to go there.
