We move fast, but not reckless.
That’s the difference.
I don’t choose patrol leaders.
I don’t choose rank.
I choose instinct.
Darius.
Rachel.
Tomas’s quiet cousin.
And two wolves who have never once hesitated when I’ve given instruction, not because they fear me, but because they understand timing.
No speeches.
No grandstanding.
Just movement.
We leave the packhouse at a controlled pace, not running through corridors like something has already gone wrong, but accelerating once we clear the outer courtyard and the ground opens into forest.
The air is cooler here, and the howl’s echo still feels fresh in my chest, not loud anymore but present, like the memory of a strike that never landed.
Layla is silent.
Not humming.
Not bristling.
Just alert.
We don’t speak as we move.
