(BLUE'S POV)
The night air in Yellowstone felt like a kind of freedom I hadn't realized I needed—pine sharp in my lungs, damp earth underfoot, and somewhere far off, the faint metallic scent of fresh blood drifting on the breeze. I stood at the edge of a clearing washed in moonlight, two towns away from Greenwell. The Lamborghini was long forgotten back at the Stormroot pack house. Out here, none of that mattered. Out here, it was just the forest—and me.
I closed my eyes for a second and let it all settle into me. The quiet. The wildness. The steady pulse of something older than everything I'd been running from. For the first time in days, the ache in my chest—the constant, gnawing absence of Mason—loosened just enough for me to take a full breath.
