CHEYENNE
I do not go alone.
I go alone where it counts.
The difference matters.
Publicly, I let the day unfold exactly as the schedule suggests. Morning appearance at training. Brief stop in the healer wing. Visible walk through the central courtyard. I let wolves see me where they expect to see me, nodding when greeted, pausing long enough to create the illusion of accessibility.
Predictable.
Manageable.
That is the story they are building.
Underneath it, Layla tracks something else entirely.
Shift change at dusk, she notes. West corridor thins first.
“Yes.”
The meeting instructions from the messenger were sparse. No location written plainly. A symbol. A reference to an old trail marker near the boundary creek that no longer appears on patrol maps.
Rachel’s kind of breadcrumb.
