Evan doesn’t waste another second. “Move,” he orders, and the pack parts instantly as he and Jadon start to run, Christa and two guards close behind.

The forest swallows them quickly, dense, quiet, wrong. Jadon’s wolf paces beneath her skin, restless. You know this scent, it whispers, and she hates that it’s right.

Branches snap ahead. The guard’s tense. Evan steps in front of her. Then the rogue staggers into view.

Blood mats its fur. Its breathing is shallow. But its eyes, its ...