I hear Axel and Atticus yelling my name behind me, their voices cutting through the trees as I push harder through the forest, branches snapping against my arms and leaves tearing under my boots, but I do not slow down because if I stop then I will have to face what I just saw.
The image of that burning temple and the red wolves being driven out flashes behind my eyes every time I blink, and the face of the Alpha in that vision looks too much like the twins for me to breathe properly.
“Bella,” Axel shouts again somewhere behind me.
I do not answer.
I run until the trees thin and the familiar scent of the border hits me, sharp and metallic in the air, and I slow only because something ahead of me feels wrong.
There is movement.
Not scattered.
Not chaotic.
Organized.
I step out from
