Rue’s Perspective

The number of mutated rabid wolves grew every single day.

Reports came in like clockwork, scratches here, bites there, a border breach narrowly contained, a patrol that never returned. Even with centralized control, even with culling operations, the sense of pressure never eased. It sat on my chest like a weight that refused to lift.

Every morning, before dawn, I checked Iris first.

She was still asleep when I knelt by her bed, her breathing soft and steady. I brushed a kiss ...