27

When I stepped into the building I was instantly met with the scent of death.

I frowned to myself as it surrounded me, trying to suffocate me. Emilia and Stellan stuck to my sides, both wearing frowns I was sure matched my own.

"Which one was it?" I asked Emilia.

She sighed and said, "Alastor."

That familiar pang of pain shot through me and my frown deepened. That was the downside of helping—you couldn't always reach the victims before it was too late.

While most of the rescues seemed to adjust to their new lives with time, the simple fact of the matter was we couldn't save them all. Some were in bad condition when we got to them, others became overstressed by the big change, and some just didn't thrive in our care. Death was a natural part of the cycle and as much as I hated it, it was inevitable.

My thoughts traveled back to the three-legged wolf and I blew a breath, wishing I could go back to the day I visited him and made more progress.

"How'd it happen?"

"He was distrustful. Stopped eating, wouldn't let anyone get close, and fought at every turn. Not to mention his body was already badly injured when he came. He didn't have the energy to heal himself and just...succumbed to his condition."

I clenched my jaw, swallowing the frustration that threatened to rise. I knew the risks of this work and knew that some wolves were too far gone by the time we reached them, but it never made it easier. Every loss felt personal.

Emilia hesitated but finally shook her head. "It was peaceful, in the end. He was weak. He just... let go."

Stellan shifted beside me, arms crossed, his frustration evident in the tense line of his shoulders. "It shouldn't have ended like that," he muttered. "He should've had a chance."

"He did have a chance," Emilia said softly. "He just couldn't take it."

The words settled between us. I ran a hand down my face, pushing away the exhaustion creeping in. I hated this feeling—this helplessness that came too late.

But there was no changing the past.

"Where is he?" I asked finally.

Emilia tilted her head toward the back of the building. "We haven't moved him yet."

I nodded and started walking. If nothing else, I could give him the respect he never got in life.

When I pushed open the door, my gaze immediately found him. Alastor's body was curled in the corner, his thin frame still, his breathing forever ceased. Even in death, he looked tense, as if he had never truly been able to rest.

I crouched beside him, my fingers brushing lightly against his fur. Cold. Lifeless.

Too late.

A slow exhale left me. "You were safe here," I murmured, more to myself than to him. "You just didn't believe it."

Emilia and Stellan remained by the door, watching, giving me space. They knew as well as I did that this wasn't just about Alastor. It was about every wolf we had lost before him. Everyone we might still lose.

"We should bury him," Stellan said after a moment, voice gruff.

I nodded, standing. "Yeah. Somewhere peaceful."

It was the least we could do. A final kindness for a soul that had never known enough of it.

I didn't stop Stellan as he moved to carefully pick up Alastor's body. Emilia stepped forward, her expression unreadable as she reached out, brushing her fingers over the wolf's fur one last time.

"I wish we could've done more," she murmured.

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to push down the ache in my chest. "We did what we could."

And that was the truth, as bitter as it was.

We left the building in silence, the late afternoon light stretching long shadows across the ground.

Outside, the world moved on as if nothing had changed. The wind rustled the trees, birds called to one another, and the scent of pine and damp earth filled the air. But in my chest, the weight of loss sat heavy, unshaken by the simplicity of the day.

"We'll take him to the grove," I said again, more to reassure myself than anything.

Stellan adjusted his grip on Alastor's body, his face impassive, but I saw the tension in the way he carried him. Emilia walked beside me, silent. There was nothing left to say.

The grove was tucked away from the main grounds, a quiet place where the sunlight filtered gently through the trees. It was where we laid others to rest before him—wolves who had never had a home never had a place where they truly belonged. This was the closest we could give them.

When we reached the clearing, Stellan set Alastor down, and without needing to be asked, we started digging. The motions were familiar. Routine. And that was the worst part—how easily we fell into it.

No one spoke until the grave was finished.

I took one last look at him, sighed to myself, and nodded before we carefully lowered his body into the earth. The dirt was cool and damp beneath my fingers as we covered him, each handful a quiet farewell.

When the last of the soil was packed down, I took a step back, brushing my hands against my jeans. Emilia knelt, placing a small, flat stone at the head of the grave. No name carved into it, no marker beyond that. Just a simple weight to say: You were here. You mattered.

"You both can go if you'd like. I'm going to stay here for a minute," I instructed Emilia and Stellan.

They both paused, looking at me for a second with that familiar emotion on their faces: concern.

"Are you sure?" Emilia asked carefully.

"I can stay—" Stellan started, but I stopped them both.

"I'll be fine. I'm just not ready to leave yet," I told them honestly. "Go ahead."

Albeit a bit reluctantly, they both do eventually leave. Once they were a decent ways away, I took a spot underneath a tree and just exhaled. It was a tradition of sorts by now for me to sit for a while after a pack member died, and that extended to the rescues too. It was a small act, but it brought me a little peace when doing so.

I leaned my head back against the rough bark, closing my eyes for a brief moment. The silence of the grove settled over me, broken only by the occasional rustling of leaves and the distant calls of birds.

It gave me space to think.

Not just about Alastor, but about all of them. Every wolf we'd lost. Every wolf we still might.

After Solomon and I lost our parents, I made it a point to try and remember all we had lost. I didn't want their memories to be lost.

Solomon called it weak, I called it respectful.

Honestly, I wasn't sure how long I sat like that—just sitting by myself, alone with my thoughts. Unfortunately, it didn't last for as long as I would've liked it to. A rustle in the trees pulled me from my thoughts. My body tensed automatically, senses sharpening as I lifted my head.

For a moment there was nothing and my eyebrows furrowed as I looked around. I was about to calm myself down when a heartbeat later, I caught the scent.

Solomon's scent.

As if hearing my thoughts, the sound of rustling leaves in the distance returned. I stood up and took one last look at Alastor's grave before I moved to investigate the sound. I wove through the trees and bushes until I reached the border and that's when I saw him.

Solomon stood with the two wolves I'd sent out to find him. He wore that same blank expression on his face and I watched as he sniffed the air until his familiar brown eyes spotted me.

Had it been any other day, I might've had the energy to play nice. Had it been any other day, I might've tried to mask my emotions better. But today wasn't any other day. Today, I was drained. I was raw. And I had no patience for Solomon.

Before, I might've tried to talk it out with him but, if I was being honest, I was done with the back and forth. I was putting an end to whatever game Solomon thought we'd been playing once and for all.

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