NEVA POV
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The inside of his farmhouse looked exactly like sixty years of careful isolation.
Not cluttered — organized. The specific organization of someone who had lived alone for a long time and had built their environment to serve function rather than comfort. One shelf of books, all relevant. One table with exactly the chairs that were needed. Papers in stacks that had an internal logic I couldn't read but that clearly existed.
And on the wall: a map.
Not a territorial map — a timeline. Dates, locations, brief notations. The first Stabilizer's convergence in one color. The second in another. The third. And at the bottom, in a third color that was newer than the others, clearly added more recently, a fourth entry that was still being built.
Our entry.
My wolf: *He's been mappin
