I didn't sleep that night. Not really.
The train yard groaned and creaked with every passing wind, and somewhere nearby, a dog barked into the night like it sensed something coming. Maybe it sensed me. Maybe it knew what I was becoming. Or losing.
The others snored or stirred in their sleep. Even Mason seemed at peace in a restless world. But I lay awake, my hand pressed to my chest, where the space once claimed by my wolf now felt cold. Hollow.
I shut my eyes, just to rest them. Just to pretend I was somewhere else.
And that's when the dream came again.
But this time, it wasn't just sound. It was sight. Color. Pain.
I'm standing in a small kitchen, the air thick with grease and disappointment. A cast-iron skillet sizzles on the stove, and somewhere in the background, a radio plays a broken country song about dead dreams and missing home.
