Pain dragged her back to consciousness.

Trash groaned as she stirred, face pressed into cold dirt and damp moss. Her back screamed, the skin torn, open welts from where Luther had last punished her. Her shoulder burned, sticky and wet with blood, the bite from that patrol wolf still raw and seeping.

She tried to move.

Agony flared like lightning up her spine, and she collapsed again, teeth clenched against the scream rising in her throat. Her wolf was quiet but close, exhausted but watchful, pressing strength into Trash's limbs. She was alive. That meant something.

She blinked past the crusted blood on her lashes, the sun just starting to burn mist off the surface of the river. Everything hurt. She was naked. Of course she was, her wolf had taken over in the water, had done what Trash couldn’t: saved them both. If her wolf hadn’t shifted and fought through that current...

She didn’t finish the thought.

Instead, she forced herself upright, gasping as fresh pain lanced through her shoulder. Her muscles trembled, protesting even that small movement. But she spotted the canvas bag nearby, snagged on a root and half-buried in silt.

Her wolf had gotten it. Somehow, she’d kept it.

Trash dragged herself to the bag, clinging to it like it was life itself. Inside were the spare clothes she’d hidden, simple jeans, a hoodie, socks, and sneakers. It hurt like hell to pull them on, especially over the bleeding gashes, but she had no choice.

She couldn’t stay here.

Not while they were still looking, and she knew they would. She had no doubt about that. Luther would not let her go. He would find her and make her pay.

She slung the bag over her good shoulder and stood. Her knees buckled, but she stayed up.

One step. Then another.

The forest was unfamiliar, but her wolf nudged her gently through the bond, guiding her.

Humans, her wolf murmured. Close. We smell them.

Trash’s heart skipped. Humans. A town. That meant roads, airports, and distance.

That meant escape.

She picked up her pace, half-jogging despite the pull in her ribs and the pain in her back. She stumbled more than once, tripping over roots, catching herself on trees. Blood soaked through the hoodie. Her shoulder throbbed in time with her heartbeat.

But she didn’t stop.

Couldn’t stop.

Luther’s voice echoed in her skull, not through the bond, but from memory. The way he’d yelled after her on the cliff. The desperation. The possessiveness.

She shook it off.

She wouldn’t think about how he sometimes stared at her like she was more than just trash. Wouldn’t think about how he almost seemed… different. Kinder. Not now.

This was her moment. Her freedom.

And she was going to take it.

She pushed harder toward the scent of civilisation. Toward streetlights and strangers. Toward a future where no one called her “Trash.” Where maybe someday she might even get to choose her own name.

Trash stood at the edge of the forest, heart pounding, shoulder aching, legs barely holding her up. Her back burned where her wounds were stuck to the fabric of her hoodie, but she didn’t stop. Couldn’t. The scent of humans filled the air with exhaust fumes, food carts, detergent, and perfume. Life.

She dug into her bag with trembling fingers and pulled out the small bottle of bloodleaf she'd hidden. Her wolf pressed forward, urging her to coat her skin and mask the scent of who and what she was.

She smeared the crushed, bitter paste along her jawline, neck, and wrists, the earthy scent rising like smoke. When she was done, she pulled the hoodie up over her head, hugging her wet bag tightly to her chest.

She stepped onto the cracked sidewalk, heart drumming like a war drum.

Humans bustled past, laughing, chatting, staring into glowing phone screens. No one looked at her; she was just another girl in a hoodie. Just another tired face.

But Trash sniffed the air again and froze.

Wolves.

At least two. Hidden behind the smells of fried food and street exhaust, but still there. Her breath caught in her throat. They found me. They’re here.

Panic flared in her chest.

She ducked her head and veered off the sidewalk, eyes scanning. She spotted an older woman, a grandmotherly type in a floral coat, carrying a grocery bag. Her steps were slow and deliberate, her face calm. Safe.

Trash hurried up to her.

“Excuse me,” she whispered.

The woman turned, blinking kindly. Trash didn’t lift her face.

“Do you know where I can buy a… a plane ticket? I need to go far. Far away.”

The woman’s brows furrowed slightly as she took in Trash’s hunched posture, her bruised face, the fresh blood blooming along her jeans. She didn’t ask what happened. Just said gently, “There’s no airport here, honey. The closest one is in the city. That’s over three hours away.”

Trash’s stomach twisted. “How do I get far away then? Which way’s the city?”

The woman hesitated. “Are you running from something?”

Trash didn’t answer. Didn’t move.

The woman sighed softly. “There’s a bus station. You can take a bus to the city, or even farther, if that’s what you need. But listen to me, don’t take rides from anyone. Even if they look nice.”

“I promise,” Trash said quickly.

“Come on, then,” the woman said. “I’ll take you there.”

Trash nodded and followed her to an old beige sedan. She climbed in carefully, keeping her head low. The drive was short, only ten minutes, but every passing moment she kept her eyes on the sidewalks and alleyways, scenting for wolves.

When they pulled into the station lot, her breath caught in her throat.

Wolves. Again.

She shrank back into the seat, eyes wide with panic.

The woman looked over. “Are you alright?”

Trash didn’t answer. Her knuckles were white on the straps of her bag. Her mouth opened, then closed.

“Get on the floor,” the woman said softly but firmly. “Stay down. I’ll get you a ticket.”

“I have the paper numbers. The greens and blacks and greys,” Trash said quickly, pulling out the crumpled bills she’d taken from the safe.

The woman blinked in confusion, then realisation dawned. “Money?”

Trash nodded.

The woman’s heart ached. “Keep it, honey. That’s called money. You’ll need it.”

Trash’s eyes widened.

“I’ll get you a ticket to the city,” she said. “From there, you can go anywhere.”

The woman left the car. Trash crouched on the floor, holding her bag like a shield. Her wolf was restless, agitated, but trusting this stranger.

Minutes passed.

The woman returned, slipped into the driver’s seat, and laid the ticket on the passenger side.

“The bus leaves in ten minutes. I’ll drive you up close, so you don’t have to cross the lot.”

Trash nodded, silent.

They pulled forward slowly, up to the loading area where the bus was idling. The driver stood outside, taking tickets.

“Jack,” the woman called out as she got out of the car. “This girl needs to be on that bus. Now.”

Jack gave a slight nod and held out a hand.

Trash stepped from the car, sniffing the air. No wolves on the bus.

Relief flooded her chest.

She walked up, handed over the ticket, and looked back at the woman.

“Thank you,” she whispered, voice cracking.

The woman smiled, eyes soft and wet. “Go, honey.”

Trash stepped onto the bus and made her way to the back. She didn’t sit. Not yet. She crouched below the window line, heart racing. Please go. Please go.

Minutes later, Jack climbed in, shut the door, and the bus rumbled to life.

Trash peeked up through the window. No one was chasing her.

As the bus pulled away, she slowly sat up.

Her hand touched the cool glass.

She was on a bus. A human bus. With no wolves.

She was out. She was gone.

A shaky breath escaped her lips, and for the first time in her life, she smiled.

Freedom. She had freed herself.