EMMA
The horn’s echo lingers long after it fades, like a bruise on the air.
I don’t go back inside.
Instead, I walk the perimeter trail Clara once showed me—the one the pack uses when they need to think without being overheard. The gravel crunches beneath my boots, steady and grounding. Every step feels deliberate, like I’m choosing where to place myself in a world that no longer fits the shape I thought it had.
I keep replaying Gabriel’s words.
You just have to exist.
It sounds simple. It isn’t.
Existing here means being seen. Felt. Counted.
The forest watches me. I don’t mean that metaphorically—not anymore. There’s a hum beneath the silence, a low awareness threading through the trees. Not hostile. Not protective.
Curious.
I stop near a fallen log and sit, pressing my palms ag
