I do not tell anyone I am leaving.
Not Landon.
Not through the bond.
Not even through routine deviation that might suggest I am heading somewhere specific.
I shower first.
Slow.
Hot water sliding down my spine while steam thickens the air until the room feels sealed off from the rest of the packhouse. I wash my hair carefully, twice, rinse, scrub my skin until sensation replaces thought, brush my teeth until mint burns sharp along my gums, braid my hair tight enough that it pulls faintly at the roots.
Neutral clothes.
Boots laced properly.
If anyone tracks me, they will see nothing out of place.
Layla is quiet but alert, tracking the rhythm of patrol shifts and scent rotations the way she tracks prey through underbrush.
We move during the shift change.
Not early.
Not late.
Ri
