KELLY THOMPSON'S POV

The forest swallowed us whole, its canopy a shroud of whispered secrets and half-lit darkness. I led Paul Biansky and my son Eden deeper into its heart, our footsteps a silent dance atop the thick blanket of leaves. The scent of damp earth and ancient pines filled my nostrils, a familiar perfume that both calmed and alerted the wolf within me.

"Keep your senses sharp," I murmured, my voice a mere thread in the vast tapestry of the woods. Eden nodded, his youthful face set ...