Somewhere along the way Mac became aware of a tightening in his chest.
It wasn’t pain or worry.
Just a quiet pressure building mile by mile.
The wolf felt it first.
Not agitation. Not the restless edge that came from too many people pressed into too little space.
Something quieter.
A steady anticipation settling into his bones.
He could almost feel damp earth under his feet. Grass instead of gravel. Cool air moving through trees instead of heat pressing down from an empty sky.
It didn’t feel like escape. It felt more like he was finally moving toward where he belonged.
The miles kept passing beneath the aircraft.
Two flights and a layover later, stateside felt unreal. The first thing he noticed was the color. Green everywhere. Deep and living in a way the desert never was. Grass pushing up along the edges of the pavement. Trees thick with leaves that moved softly in the wind. The air felt different too. Cooler. Heavier with moisture.
People moved through it all without urgency. No weapons slung across their chests. No radios clipped to their collars. Just ordinary movement.
Mac watched them the way he watched unfamiliar terrain, cataloging posture and motion without meaning to.
It should have felt like relief.
Instead it felt like displacement, as if he had stepped sideways into a life that continued perfectly well without him.
A few hours later he was back in the air again. The final leg carried him north.
The flight was shorter this time.
The flight into New York came in low over the water, the aircraft banking slowly as the coastline unfolded beneath them. Gray-green waves moved in long lines below, broken by wakes from ferries and cargo ships.
Beyond them the city rose into view. Steel and glass catching the morning light. Bridges stretched across the river like cables pulled tight between worlds. Traffic moved steadily along them in narrow streams.
Life stacked on top of itself in ways that felt dense and relentless after the open distances of the desert. Mac felt the pull in his chest settle the moment the skyline came into view.
Melvin was here.
When the wheels finally touched down, the tension in him went still.
The aircraft rolled slowly toward the terminal.
After landing, Mac turned his phone on and waited.
The message came through almost immediately.
Hudson Park Hotel
Room 402
Mac picked up his bag and headed for the exit.
Minutes later he was in the back seat of a cab. The ride into the city blurred past in a wash of traffic and glass towers. The streets werelouder and closer than anything he had known for months. Horns echoed between buildings. People moved along the sidewalks in constant motion.
The driver barely spoke. Mac did not mind.
