Lila
Wolves howled in the distance, low and searching. After the third night, I realized it wasn’t random. The howls repeated in a rhythm, answering one another like call and response, a pattern threading through the trees.
By the fourth night, I was certain they weren’t wild animals, they were shifters.
I crouched near the shuttered window of the shelter, the blanket wrapped tight around my shoulders. My breath fogged the crack in the wood as I strained to hear. The howls rose again from the east, and another to the south, another farther away.
They were marking territory, positioning themselves like soldiers on patrol.
My stomach knotted. Rogues didn’t behave this way; they fought for scraps and scattered the moment they scented danger. These circled and worked together.
Moveme
