The trail was cold. Again. Mud-caked boots, hands shaking, and her knife drawn, Ellie stood at the edge of what used to be a small WLF outpost — now silent, burned, and empty. Another dead lead. Another night without you.

She slammed her fist against the wall, letting out a guttural breath. “Fuck.”

Four days. Four days since you’d vanished during patrol. Four days since Ellie found your bloodied backpack tossed in the grass like trash.

Tommy tried to tell her not to jump to conclusions. Maria begged her to wait for more information. But Ellie knew. She could feel it in her gut — that primal ache that twisted her insides and whispered: they took her.

And if they hurt you…

“I’m gonna kill every last one of them,” she muttered under her breath, jaw clenched so tight it ached.

In her coat pocket, your necklace — the one she found by the tracks. She held it now, pressed between her fingers like a lifeline.

Her horse, Ghost, waited nearby. Ellie climbed on, checked the rifle strapped to her back, and looked toward the mountains.

“They think they can take you from me?” she whispered. “Let’s see how far they get.”