Dahlia's POV
The gravel bit into my feet through the thin soles of my indoor shoes, but I didn't slow down. I couldn't. Axel was a dead weight in my arms, his small body still radiating a faint, residual heat that felt like the hum of a low-voltage wire. Behind me, I could hear the quick, frantic footsteps of Aidan and Ariana. They weren't crying anymore; they were beyond that. They were in that cold, silent state of shock that follows a brush with death.
The driveway was a winding ribbon of grey asphalt that seemed to stretch forever. The forest on either side felt different than the woods around the old pack house. These trees were taller, older, and they felt like they were leaning in, watching us with a thousand needle-sharp eyes.
"Mommy, my legs hurt," Ariana whispered, her voice barely audible over the wind.
