Desperate Tracks
The winding paths leading to Midnight Crest felt suffocatingly quiet under the pale moonlight. Draven, Isla, and their warriors combed the forest with relentless determination, every snap of twigs or rustle of leaves making Isla’s heart lurch.
“They were here,” one of the scouts called out, sniffing the ground. “Micah’s scent is faint, but it’s heading northwest.”
Draven’s amber eyes glinted as he barked, “Then we follow it.”
The group moved quickly, their pace urgent. Isla’s breath caught in her throat with every step, her gaze scanning the darkness as if sheer willpower could reveal the missing trail.
But the scent trail abruptly vanished as they reached a fork in the path. Scouts circled, sniffing and searching, but the silence of the woods offered no answers.
“They have to be here,” Isla said, her voice strained with desperation. Her silver eyes gleamed with tears as she dismounted and began searching the ground with trembling hands.
Draven growled low in his throat, his frustration barely contained. “We keep moving until we find them,” he said, his tone edged with determination.
Hours later, the grand gates of Midnight Crest rose before them, the sight bringing Isla no comfort. The pack where she and Seraphine had grown up now stood shrouded in eerie stillness, its usual bustle replaced with uneasy silence.
Her chest tightened as they approached. The absence of her children felt like a physical weight pressing against her ribs. “Please,” she whispered to herself. “Please let them be here.”
But as they passed through the gates, the silence was deafening.
The Alpha of Midnight Crest, Isla’s adoptive father, met them at the gates alongside Leonora. His face was drawn and lined with worry, his broad shoulders hunched under the weight of unseen burdens.
“We received your letter,” he began, his voice steady but laced with concern. “We’ve been waiting for them, but no one arrived.”
