That was the kindest thing I could do. The cleanest cut.
If I'd seen him, I might have stayed. Might have let the pull of the bond override the pull of the mountain. Might have convinced myself that the visions could wait, that the wolf could survive another season, that I didn't have to be the one who answered.
But I did have to be the one.
The story Darian told wasn't just a story. It was a blueprint. A calling. A thread that ran through generations, connecting women who didn't fit anywhere to the lost and broken things that needed finding.
I didn't know if I was one of those women. Didn't know if the bloodline was real or the myth was just a myth.
But I knew what I'd seen. The wolf on the ridge, feral and afraid. The figure falling through white. The silence that waited at the top of the world.
Someone had to answer.
I turned north and started walking.
The forest swallowed me within minutes.
The trees were thick here, old growth that blocked the pale light and muffled sound. Snow lay heavy on branches, creating a canopy of white that filtered everything into silence. My boots broke through the crust with each step, leaving a trail that would disappear by afternoon.
Good. I didn't want to be followed.
The route was clear in my mind—mapped and remapped over weeks of research. North through the forest to the highway. Hitch a ride to Talkeetna. From there, the glacier landing that would take me to base camp.
After that, it was just me and the mountain.
Fourteen thousand feet of ice and stone and wind. A route that killed experienced climbers every year. A timeline that was already too tight, weather that was already too unpredictable.
And somewhere up there, a wolf that no one else was looking for.
The pull sharpened with each step north. Not the hum—that had faded to a whisper, a background noise I could almost ignore. This was something older. Deeper. A hook behind my sternum, drawing me forward like a fish on a line.
I adjusted my pack and kept walking.
The trees thinned. The wind picked up. The pull grew stronger.
Behind me, everything I'd built and everyone I'd let close. The warmth of Rae's kitchen. Ivy's laughter. The steady thrum of a bond I'd never asked for but couldn't seem to escape.
Ahead, the white.
I didn't look back.
I didn't need permission.
Chapter twelve
James
Something was wrong.
I knew it before Ivy said a word. Felt it in my chest like a hook pulling loose, a thread snapping somewhere deep. The hum that had been my constant companion since the moment I'd seen Lumi—that warm, insistent pulse beneath my skin—had gone quiet overnight.
Not faded. Not dimmed.
Silent.
I found Ivy in the dining hall at breakfast, sitting alone at a table near the windows. She was picking at a muffin, her usual energy subdued.
"Hey," I said, sliding into the seat across from her. "Where's Lumi?"
