The forest blurred around them.
Avalon ran.
Not the reckless sprint of panic, but a calculated, relentless pace—muscles burning, lungs steady, instincts razor-sharp. Every stride ate away at the distance between them and the pack, every heartbeat a silent declaration of freedom.
Branches lashed past her flanks. Leaves tore loose beneath her paws. The ground shifted constantly—soft loam, jagged stone, damp moss—but Avalon never faltered. She adjusted without thinking, body flowing with lethal grace.
Faster, she urged herself. Farther.
Inside her mind, Iva clung to awareness, to purpose. Fear was there—of course it was—but it was caged, compressed into something sharp and useful. She let Avalon lead completely, trusting her wolf with a faith born not of desperation, but of understanding
