The wind slithered through the trees, biting and restless, carrying the scent of pine, damp earth, and something unfamiliar—something wild, but untamed. Rathis had been tracking it for the last hour, weaving through the dense underbrush, silent as the shadows that stretched long beneath the moon.

The scent wasn’t pack-bound. That much he knew. It lacked the layered musk of too many wolves living in one space, the ingrained loyalty, the weight of bonds. No, this one was different. Untested. Alone.

His golden eyes flashed as he followed the trail, his steps noiseless against the frost-laced ground. It wasn’t caution that slowed him—it was curiosity. He didn’t do this. He didn’t care. But something about the scent gnawed at him, as if it had lodged itself beneath his skin.

Then he saw them.

They were crouched low beside a fallen tree, shoulders tight, their breath misting in the cold night air. Their head snapped up before he made a sound, senses sharp but still unrefined. A survivor’s instincts, but no predator’s control. Not yet.

Rathis didn’t move. He let his presence settle over them like a warning, golden eyes catching theirs through the darkness.

“You’re alone,” he said, voice rough, unused to speech.

Their eyes flickered, assessing, wary. But they didn’t flinch. “So are you.”

That made his lips twitch. A hint of teeth, something that wasn’t quite a grin but carried the edge of one.

“Difference is,” he said, stepping closer, slow, measured, deliberate, “I choose to be.”

They didn’t move, didn’t cower, but he could see it now—the weariness clinging to their frame, the way their ribs rose and fell with barely checked exhaustion. They had been running. Not hunting, not wandering. Running.

From what?

His instincts told him to turn and leave. Not your problem. Not your fight.