Because he told me to.
Because I trust him.
Voices carry through the trees a few minutes later.
Low.
Familiar.
Not one.
Several.
I turn slightly, tension snapping tight in my chest as figures emerge from the darkness.
Flint.
Hudson.
Zane.
Slate.
They move like Ethan.
Like they belong here.
Like the mountain answers when they call.
Hudson’s gaze flicks to me first, taking me in quickly, assessing. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I say automatically.
He doesn’t look convinced.
“Where is he?” Slate asks.
“Tracking,” I answer.
Zane lets out a low whistle. “He called us up here—he doesn’t like that you ran.”
“I didn’t—” I start, then stop.
Because I did.
Because they already know it.
Flint’s gaze sharpens slightly. “You’re still standing, so he didn’t kill you for it.”
“Funny,” I mutter.
Slate smirks faintly. “That means he’s in a good mood.”
“Is this him in a good mood?” I ask.
Hudson’s mouth curves. “You don’t want to see him in a bad one.”
My pulse spikes again.
