Page 16 of A Wolfe in the Woods

She took a cautious step toward me.

“I didn’t mean to…I didn’t even realize you were working on something. I just thought it was part of the trail, and I wasn’t trying to…” Her voice tumbled out in a rush, tangled with nerves and embarrassment. “I should’ve turned around. I should’ve paid attention to the signs. Gods, I’m so sorry?—”

That was when I felt it. Warm. Slow.

I looked down. A trickle of blood ran from a fresh gash on my left forearm, cutting a path like a winding river through the dust and sweat on my skin.

Her eyes followed mine, widening. “You’re bleeding!” she exclaimed, reaching out on instinct.

“Please don’t touch me,” I said, sharper than I meant to. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I don’t need your help. You’ve done enough already.”

The words came out instinctively. Rough. Too rough.

But I didn’t take them back. Something in me was already shifting—tightening.

I didn’t want to keep talking to her. Didn’t want to stand in the dust of three days’ work and carry on with an obligatory conversation.

I needed to walk away before the anger building in my chest found somewhere else to go, before it funneled straight to the beast inside me.

I started to walk off. “Enjoy your stay,” I said. “And next time, stay on the path.”

I didn’t look back. Didn’t need to. I could feel her still standing there. Silent, unmoving, like she wasn’t sure whether to follow or disappear.

The walk back to my cabin wound through the trees, quiet except for the occasional crackle and snaps of twigs and leaves snapping beneath my boots.

Juniper Hollow sat tucked into a cradle of land at the base of a mountain, like it had always been waiting there—half-forgotten, half-remembered. The main cabins curved around a lake so still it looked painted most mornings, touched by mist and ringed with reeds. Some of the cabins leaned slightly, their porches sagging like tired shoulders, while others stood tall, freshly repaired. Work in progress. Always.

Farther up—beyond the tree line—were the two upper cabins I’d just come from. Few visitors made it up that far, and fewer still knew what lay beyond: a mine sealed off for over a hundred years, and the ridge just past it, where you could stand and watch the lights of Everwick blink in the dark like a field of fireflies.

Most folks came for the quiet, the seclusion. But this land held more than silence.

Juniper Woods stretched out in every direction. It was deep, vast, and older than anyone alive could remember. The trees here weren’t just tall and imposing, like guardians. They were watchful too. They grew in strange patterns, knotted together like they were protecting something sacred. Things lived in this forest—some common, some rare, and a few whispered about in town as if saying their names out loud might call them back.

There were stories that this place used to belong to another kind of people. That the woods remembered them. That they’dleft something behind. Something ancient and watchful that was meant to be respected, not disturbed.

Now it was mine. The land, the legacy, the silence. Passed down without asking, without choice. I hadn’t asked for this. I just happened to be the last one left standing.

My cabin came into view, the last one ringing the lake. Well…my dad’s cabin, technically. But he wasn’t here anymore.

I pushed the door open and stepped inside, letting it close behind me on its own. The sound echoed, dull and heavy.

Cool air met me, thick with the smell of old wood, dust, and something faint and familiar. Cedar. Leather. Smoke. A scent that stayed long after a person was gone, seeped deep into the walls.

My father had lived here all of his life. I could still smell him here. Now it was mine.

Sweat clung to me in patches, soaking through my shirt. My arms were still shaking, the ache settling deep in the joints. The crash, the dust, the girl…they all lingered behind my eyes like the afterimage of a flame.

I didn’t bother with lights. I could see just fine. The shadows suited me better anyway.

I moved through the room like I’d never left, stepping around the loose board near the hearth, leaning past the low-hanging beam by the kitchen.

This place wasn’t home anymore, but it was where I’d come back to.

The city had taken everything I’d given it. My time. My sleep. My name in the papers, a few courtroom victories that had meant nothing in the long run. I had the reputation, the tailored suits, the win record no one could touch. And still, none of it filled the part of me that kept coming undone.

The part that had teeth.

And when I lost control, people got hurt.