The night air sliced sharper than usual.
Opal's breath puffed in ghostly clouds, chilling her lungs as she paced the winding edge of the pack's sprawling territory. Above, the moon gleamed like polished bone, suspended stark and unforgiving in a sky wiped clean of stars. Its pale luminescence bled through the gnarled branches, drenching everything in silvery shadows that twisted unnaturally, dancing just beyond the edge of reason.
She knew she shouldn't be out here, especially alone, especially now. But she craved distance from the scrutiny—the pitying glances, the whispered conversations. Her recent argument with Forrest still echoed bitterly, looping in relentless circles through her mind.
"You'll have to choose, Opal," Forrest had said earlier, his voice laced with uncharacteristic seriousness beneath layers of sarcasm. "And we both know how well your decisions usually turn out."
