“Split up,” he orders hoarsely. “North and south. Check exits, service roads, anything.”
The warriors do not hesitate.
They scatter in controlled bursts of motion, some shifting back to human to sprint along the shoulder, others remaining wolves as they fan out into the surrounding land, searching for a miracle that does not come.
Minutes stretch into agony.
Atticus races north until his lungs burn and his muscles scream, checking every pull off and side road, every patch of disturbed dirt, but there is nothing. No scent, no sign, no echo of her presence through the bond except the hollow ache where she should be.
Axel runs south with equal desperation, his wolf clawing at the edges of his control, rage and terror tangling so tight he can barely separate them, but the result is the sa
