The inky blackness of the Black Hills Forest pressed in on them, the gnarled branches of ancient trees clawing at the twilight sky. Eleanor, her brow creased with worry, adjusted the straps of her backpack, its weight a familiar comfort against her shoulders. Beside her, Elijah shifted, a nervous energy radiating from him. She stole a glance at him, his normally bright eyes clouded with a flicker of apprehension.
Earlier, during their tense strategy meeting in the flickering light of the old cabin, Elijah had volunteered himself as bait. His reasoning, though sound, had sent a jolt of fear through Eleanor. "Deucalions can sniff out wolf blood a mile away," he'd argued, his voice firm despite the tremor in his hands. "Its last victims were human. Human scent will draw it out."
