A shiver runs down my spine, but I shake it off and throw back the covers.
Floorboards creak under my feet as I creep to the bathroom, then downstairs.
The house is silent. The air, though already warming up, is pleasantly chill. Pale morning light slips in through the windows. Downstairs is completely charming. A proper homey farmstead, with some grand antiques thrown in for good measure.
I’m not sure why but something pulls me toward the kitchen. It’s not hunger—my grumbly stomach has yet to wake up, though he will soon and I just hope and pray there is some bacon or maybe waffles on the cards.
When I arrive, I notice the back door is open, the screen door is closed but hasn’t clicked into the latch. I move to it and stare through the wire netting. Out back is where we sat and ate lastnight. The firepit is black and gray and looks cold now. A fine layer of dew rests on the grass like a dusting of sugar, and there are more willows and pines as the property stretches downhill.
Without thinking I push the screen door open and step outside.
The grass is soft under my feet. I wonder for a second if I should run back upstairs and put my shoes on, but there’s something nice about the feel of the blades bending under me, cushioning my steps. I feel the energy of this place, of the earth, rising up through me, and whatever force is pulling me continues to do so.
Pushing hanging branches from my path, I meander through the trees. The air smells so clean and fresh, even without my daily dose of caffeine I feel my senses awakening.
Eventually, I come to a dense patch of what I can confidently now call forest, moving the last few branches out of my way and arriving at the edge of a small hill. The grass stops, leaving soil and roots exposed. Below me is a clearing, the ground covered in leaves and pine needles. Across it I spot Mal, kneeling with her back to me, a wicker basket at her side, and in front of her is a jagged piece of rock sticking vertically from the ground.
It looks like a tombstone.
Using a nearby branch for balance, I trip and stumble my way down the short but steep incline and arrive in the clearing.
Mal doesn’t move, but a subtle shift in her energy, the way a couple of loose stands of silver hair shift on her shoulder, lets me know she knows I’m here.
For a while I stand silently, not wanting to disturb this peaceful moment, until finally Mal reaches up and places a hand on the top of the stone, rubbing her thumb over a groove.
“This was his family home,” she says, without turning. “That’s why we came back here.”
“I get it.” I shift forward a little awkwardly, trying to keep my voice soft to match the mood. “This place is pretty magical.”
“Even though the pack he was born into didn’t want him,” Mal continues, her voice wavering just a little. “He still wanted to come back.”
I step forward again, wanting to reach out but keeping my hands at my sides.
“I’m so sorry.”
She bows her head but turns it slightly so I can see her eyes.
“He liked you, you know.”
“He did?”
She nods. “Thought you could make a difference.”
I pick at the skin around my nails, resisting the old, familiar urge to rub the back of my neck.
“I would like to. I want to.”
Mal’s shoulders rise as she takes a long, thought-filled breath.
“After your packmates invaded the Sanctuary, Kairos asked if we could leave. He knew his time was running out and he wanted to end his days in a place that felt like home.”
She’s turned back to his tombstone, staring at it as if she can see him standing there.
“I’ve never had a place that felt like home, until the Sanctuary.”
Now she turns completely, and her face is ashen.
“But that home was taken from me. Invaded by the pack wolves you’ve come here to ask me to help save.”
