The month ends on a Tuesday.
I know because I've been counting. Not obsessively. Not scratching marks into walls the way I did in prison. Just aware of it the way you're aware of a window in a room. It's there. Light comes through it. Eventually you have to deal with what's on the other side.
Monday night I don't sleep again.
Not because of nightmares. Not because of the bond or the cold or the sound of the packhouse settling around me.
Just because my brain won't stop.
I lie on my back and stare at the ceiling and think about what I'm actually deciding tomorrow. People keep framing it as a choice between Rylan and leaving. Between the bond and my own survival. Between who I was and who I've become.
It's not that simple.
It was never that simple.
What I'm actually deciding is wheth
