I guide her down the short path from her house, every instinct sharpening the moment her fingers slip into mine.
My awareness stretches outward, alert, mapping the world the way wolves do, even in a human skin.
The packed dirt and gravel beneath our feet shift with that familiar countryside crunch, and I adjust my pace so she never steps on the loose patches that like to slide underfoot.
A soft breeze drifts across the path, carrying the scent of grass and distant rain. It brushes her cheek, and she inhales, quiet and surprised. I tuck the sound away like something precious.
Her cane taps beside us, but tonight the rhythm is different.
Lighter. Hopeful.
I listen to everything: the dry whisper of grass, a faint windchime from a porch, a screen door creaking open down the lane, a truck engine far off, a night bird taking flight, a porch light buzzing against moth wings.
No hum of the city; none of the chaos that comes with it. Just countryside breathing around us.
I scan ahead with each step, mind mapping the terrain.
A raised crack in the pavement. A dip in the curb. A wash of loose stones. A mailbox leaning at an angle.
My senses cast a silent perimeter around her, checking everything before she reaches it, protecting her without her realizing it.
But what snags in my chest is her.
Her pulse flutters when my thumb brushes her hand. She tilts her head toward me when she listens, trusting heat and presence over sight. The longer we walk, the more her shoulders loosen, like the night itself is letting her breathe.
Because of me.
I shouldn’t want that as much as I do.
But I do.
God, I do.
We reach the beginning of the trail at the sanctuary.
The night opens around us, wide and endless. The kind of night that feels like the whole world is holding its breath.
The air is cool, brushing over my skin like a reminder that I’m alive, but when I’m with Violet, I don’t need that reminder. I feel it.
The scent of open fields drifts in—grass, damp soil, animals bedding down for the night. The wind moves through the tall grass with a soft, shivering whisper, and overhead the stars stretch across the sky, clean and bright.
I wish she could see it.
I mourn the fact that she can’t, but I don’t say it out loud.
She stands beside me, her face angled slightly upward, like she knows something magnificent is above her but can only feel its echo. It softens something deep in my chest. Hurts something too. Because I want to show it all to her.
But she turns toward my warmth and smiles, and suddenly the beauty above us feels small compared to that.
For the first time in years, I feel centered.
For the first time in years, it doesn’t feel like the world is slipping from under my feet.
Violet’s fingers tighten slightly around mine.
“Is it beautiful?” she asks softly, as if she’s afraid of the answer.
I swallow hard. “It’s…” My voice fails me. “It’s nothing compared to you.”
