CHEYENNE
There is no moon.
The sky is a flat stretch of black that swallows depth and distance, and the forest feels closer because of it, branches leaning inward like they are listening instead of growing.
I leave the packhouse without triggering the watchers I expected.
That tells me everything.
Two nights ago I would have felt eyes on my back before I cleared the outer path, subtle shifts in scent and breath that mark wolves pretending not to track you, but tonight there is nothing except the steady rhythm of distant patrol lights and the quiet hum of the bond sitting sharp and awake inside my chest.
Landon moved something.
He did not stop me.
He did not block the path.
He adjusted the field.
I do not smile, and I do not slow down, because acknowledging it too visibly would ch
