Lucas’s POV
The forest closes around us like a living thing, branches scraping at my coat, the ground soft and hungry under my boots, and still I run because standing still would mean thinking, and thinking is where the wound opens again. We are a ragged line moving through the dark, rogues limping, blood slick on fur and hands, faces set in that ugly mix of pain and stubborn pride that has always been the backbone of my pack. They look to me because I am their leader. After all, they have to, because even in defeat, someone must be whole enough to hold the map of what comes next. I hate that they need me. I hate that I have to be the steady one in their shaking world.
We do not speak much. There is no need. The silence is full of the blood and the metal and the screams that still echo i
