EMMA
I don’t go back inside.
I can’t.
The air feels too tight, too aware of me, as if the world has turned its head and is waiting to see what I’ll do next. I pace the edge of the parking lot instead, boots crunching over old snow and gravel, breath fogging in sharp bursts.
The howl still echoes in my bones.
Not my ears—my bones.
I hang up on Clara without saying goodbye. Not because I don’t care, but because if I hear one more word about Gabriel—about blood or borders or packs—I will break open right here where anyone can see.
I press my palms to my eyes until stars burst behind my lids.
“I left,” I whisper to myself. “I left. I’m not responsible anymore.”
The bond answers with a slow, deliberate pulse.
Lie.
Pain flares through my chest, sudden and brutal enough to make me gasp
