“Don’t leave me.”
“I won’t.”
Behind them, Davey hovered, wide-eyed and pale, trying to stay out of the way but needing to be close. Then they were moving, down the hall, through double doors, voices rising around them. And somewhere, far away, the forest held its breath.
31
The mountains were no longer quiet. Rain had swallowed the sky. It hadn’t come in a sudden downpour, but as a steady, relentless force that had gathered all day like breath in a chest before a scream. Now, in the belly of night, it fell in sheets, cold, hard, and unmerciful. Each drop stung like pinpricks, drenching Olivia’s coat, plastering her hair to her neck, and soaking through the seams of her boots despite their years of use.
The forest trail normally firm and forgiving had turned into something treacherous and wild. Mud clung to every step, dragged at her soles, slid underfoot with each incline. But Olivia pushed forward. Beside her, Asha moved carefully, one hand gripping the sodden strap of the supply bag, the other braced against the steep rock face that lined the path. Her breath came sharp and fast. She was strong for her age, and eager. But Olivia could hear it in her voice when she last spoke, she was afraid.
Olivia kept talking. Quiet encouragements. Short instructions. The things that tethered people in storms. They were halfway up the slope now, clinging to a narrow ledge where the trail faded into slick rock and spongy moss. The forestpressed close, heavy with pine and shadow. Rainwater spilled down the mountain in runnels, finding every crevice, every fault line. The wind had shifted too, no longer playful, it howled now, urgent, threading through branches like something old and angry.
Somewhere, beneath it all, was the wolf. They reached the shelf just below the upper ridge, a jutting, narrow platform of stone slicked by rain and rimmed in lichen. Trees leaned out over the drop like guardians, their roots clutching rock, their trunks swaying in the storm.
And there, half-hidden beneath a twisted fir, lay the animal.
The wolf was young, maybe a yearling. Gray-coated, mottled with white and soot-black along the spine. Its body was curled awkwardly, one leg bent unnaturally beneath it. The snare, a steel wire meant for smaller prey, had looped tight around its haunch and drawn blood, the fur matted red and slick.
It snarled the moment Olivia approached. Asha flinched behind her. The wolf writhed, its golden eyes wild with pain and confusion, fangs bared, a deep growl rumbling from its chest that was more desperation than threat.
“It’s okay,” Olivia murmured, crouching slowly. “You’re not alone. We’re here to help you.”
The animal lunged slightly, but its hind leg wouldn’t support it. It fell with a yelp, then dragged itself backward, twisting, eyes blazing. Olivia didn’t flinch. She’d seen this before. The terror of being trapped. The fury of it. She knew what it was to want to run and not be able to. She reached into her jacket and pulled out the tranquilizer, measured and prepped in the warmth of the lodge only hours before. Her hands, though cold, moved with practiced grace. Her knee sank into the soft ledge moss, and water pooled around her boot.
Behind her, Asha edged closer. “Do you think it’s going to bite?”
“It might,” Olivia said gently. “But not if we do this right.”
The wind screamed down the side of the mountain, and Olivia waited, watching the wolf’s chest rise and fall in shuddering gasps. The animal’s legs twitched. Its snarl faded into a low whine, eyes flicking from Olivia’s face to the needle in her hand.
“Just a breath more, sweetheart,” Olivia whispered.
She moved slowly, so slowly it felt like time was stretching around her, holding its breath.
Then in one motion, practiced and certain, she delivered the sedative.
The wolf yelped and lunged, catching her wrist with a snap of teeth, not skin, but the fabric of her sleeve, and then dropped, its muscles going limp in stages, until its body sagged to the side, breath slowing.
Olivia exhaled. “It’s okay,” she said again, even though the wolf could no longer hear her.
Asha knelt beside her, her face pale and rain soaked. “That was incredible.”
Olivia offered a tired smile. “That was lucky.”
They moved together, fast but careful. Olivia pulled gloves from her pocket, unspooled gauze, cut through the wire snare with clippers wet from the rain. The wound was deep but clean. They could clean it, treat it, carry the wolf down the mountain between them. It wasn’t going to die tonight.
But something else was changing. The trees groaned above them, the wind rising to a new pitch. Lightning flashed somewhere far off, a silver wound in the sky. The storm wasn’t done. It was circling back. Olivia looked down at the wolf. So small now, at rest.
And then up at the slope above, the ledge they’d have to climb again. The mud already sliding in thin waves. The sky bleeding water. She pressed a hand to the wolf’s flank.
“We’re not done yet,” she murmured.
Behind her, Asha looked up at the trees, nervous. “Is it safe?”
Olivia didn’t answer. Because safety was never guaranteed. Only the will to go on, was.
32
