*Maddox*

I walk ahead of the stretcher carrying Isla and try not to pull my fur out. If I had thumbs, I might’ve already pulled out enough fur around my forehead that I’d look bald.

Images of a wolf with a receding hairline come to mind, and I almost laugh. But nothing is that funny right now.

What the actual fuck was she thinking?

I already know the answer to that question.

As much as I want to blame Isla for all of this, it’s my fault. She left because I ...