By the time I get back to the packhouse, my body feels heavier than it should, and the adrenaline from the field has burned down into something slower and sharper, and every step reminds me of the hits I took earlier even though I keep moving like nothing is wrong.
I head straight for the washroom, and the hallway is busy in that controlled way it has been all day, and wolves move around me while the quiet respect from yesterday still sits under everything.
I shut the door and lean against it for a second before turning on the water, and the sound fills the space while I strip off my jacket and set it aside.
Routine. Reset. Something to hold onto.
I splash water over my face and brace my hands against the sink, and the mirror reflects someone more tired than I feel, and the bond hums l
