Her fingers trembled as she reached for the bookbag Gabrielle had thrown onto the bed. The zipper stuck, her pulse pounding, but it finally gave. Inside was a thick envelope. She peeled it open with care.

Cash. Crisp bills, more than she’d ever seen. She didn’t know how much a plane ticket cost, didn’t even really understand what flying meant, but she knew what escape looked like.

And it was this: the weight of money, the scent of bloodleaf, and the ticking clock in her chest.

If she stayed, Luther would become Alpha. And when, not if, that happened, there would be no slipping through cracks anymore. No hiding in the rituals. No forgetting in the shadows. He would never let her go.

And Gabrielle… she wasn’t just a threat. She was a promise. A countdown waiting to end in her death.

Trash stared at the envelope, then gritted her teeth. She was going to do it.

She had to do it.

Everyone was still at the Pack Hall. The timing couldn’t be better. The patrols on the pack border would be in place, but bloodleaf would help. If she masked her scent well enough…

She hesitated.

She didn’t know where to go. Didn’t even know which direction led off pack lands, or which might send her deeper into the wolves' den.

But then her wolf stirred, strong and sure for the first time in days.

"I can guide us. Follow scents to safety."

Trash’s eyes burned. That voice, steady and calm, was a lifeline. She nodded, even though her hands still shook.

She got up and went to the boiler and dropped to the floor, pulled up the loose brick by her bed, and grabbed everything she’d hidden over time: crumpled bills snatched from laundry pockets, the bottles of bloodleaf.

She then went to the broken utility sink and pulled the panelling loose, and took her bar of soap, her new toothbrush, face lotion, and a precious little tub of coconut oil.

Then she ripped apart her bedding, finding the wrapped protein bars and stale biscuits she’d hoarded. She stuffed everything into old plastic grocery bags, double-tying them in case she had to cross water.

She opened one of the bloodleaf bottles, letting the scent coat her skin, neck, wrists, and the inside of her shirt. Then her pants, shoes, and backpack. She didn't have enough for mistakes.

The bag went on her back. She turned to look at the basement one last time. This prison that had tried to convince her it was home. The place where pieces of her still lingered, shattered, but not gone.

She turned away. Each stair creaked under her weight as she crept upward, one foot, then the other, silent as breath.

She didn’t look back.

She was running.

And she wasn’t going to stop.

The trees blurred past her in a rush of motion, shadows and moonlight dancing wildly as she pushed through the underbrush. Brambles tore at her clothes, scraped her skin, but she didn’t slow.

She couldn’t.

Then came the sound that made her blood freeze.

A howl. Loud. Powerful. Full of fury.

It ripped through the night, a snarl carved into sound. Luther.

He knew.

He knew she was gone.

Her legs faltered for a heartbeat, terror strangling her breath, but she didn’t stop. The rustle of undergrowth behind her turned into the unmistakable thundering of paws. Not one set but many.

They were coming.

He was coming.

Panic surged up, a tidal wave threatening to drown her as her lungs burned and her vision tunnelled. She didn’t know where she was going, only that she had to get there before they reached her.

Another howl cracked through the air closer.

Ahead, something moved.

Trash skidded to a halt, her heart slamming in her chest. Wolves. Some were in front of her now, flanking her. Herding her.

They were trying to corner her.

“No,” she gasped, backing up, only to crash into a low branch that whipped her cheek. Her skin burned. Her legs ached. But she turned and ran again, sprinting into the trees.

He’s going to catch me. She didn’t let the thought finish.

She couldn’t afford the weight of it.

She swallowed hard, trying to fight the rising nausea, the black-edged panic pressing down on her chest like a vice. Her breathing turned erratic. She couldn’t see clearly anymore. Her limbs felt wrong, trembling from too much fear, not enough oxygen.

And then a pressure in her head.

A flicker at the edge of her mind. Unfamiliar and cold.

Her wolf snarled, “He’s trying to use the pack link.”

Trash stumbled, nearly falling. Her wolf’s voice was firm, but there was tension there, too, mixed with fear.

He had never spoken to her through the pack bond before. No one had. No one thought she was worth connecting to. She hadn’t even known if the bond would ever form until she accidentally shifted that day.

Her wolf had bled trying to protect her.

He had beaten her while she was in that form. The memory slammed into her, fur soaked with blood, ribs cracked, her wolf howling in agony, and then silence.

Trash didn’t realise she’d let out a sob until her lungs seized. The pressure at the back of her mind grew sharper, like claws scratching.

She shut it out. Forced it away.

“No. No, no—no,” she breathed.

She ran harder, the sound of pursuit all around her now. The smell of wolves on the wind. That acidic scent of fury and dominance.

She tasted blood in her mouth from where she'd bitten her cheek.

Branches whipped past her, and she let instinct take over, let her wolf guide her feet even though she couldn’t shift. She was running toward something, anything that wasn’t him.

She didn’t look back. She didn’t have time to. She just kept running. Because she knew.

She knew, knew if they caught her, she wouldn’t come back alive.

And even if she did… she wouldn’t be her anymore.

Trash crashed through the trees, lungs burning, vision tunnelling. Her feet barely touched the ground anymore, just pounding forward on fear and desperation. Then—

A blur of fur.

A massive wolf came from nowhere, slamming into her with crushing force.

She screamed as she hit the ground hard, the wind knocked from her chest, pain flaring down her spine.

Before she could move, its teeth sank into her shoulder.

Agony tore through her, white-hot and all-consuming. She shrieked, her voice swallowed by the snarl of the wolf dragging her across the forest floor.

Her limbs flailed, panic giving her strength. Her fingers scrabbled at the dirt, at rocks, anything.

Then her hand closed around something solid.

A branch.

Thick. Heavy. Sharp-edged.

She swung wildly, screaming through gritted teeth.

Crack.

The branch connected with the wolf’s head. It yelped, jerking back.

Blood spilt down her arm, and the world swam as she forced herself to swing again. The second hit landed square against its jaw, and with a yelp of pain, it let go and stumbled back.

She didn't wait.

Trash scrambled to her feet, the pain in her shoulder nearly blacking her out. Her fingers trembled as she gripped the branch like a lifeline, blood soaking into the fabric of her shirt, but she ran.

"Go right!" her wolf shouted.

She turned, then veered left.

"No! The other way!" her wolf barked in her head, urgency cutting through the pain.

She spun clumsily, stumbling over roots, turning the right way this time.

“Sorry, sorry,” she gasped, not even knowing if she said it out loud.

Her shoulder throbbed with every step, but she kept going.

Then a sound.

Not growls. Not paws.

Rushing water.

Somewhere ahead.

Trash didn't know if it was a river or a stream, or a cliff, but she pushed toward it. Behind her, snarls and howls grew closer, wolves crashing through the brush, howling to each other, circling.