Ivy
Today is the first day in four days that the sun has finally decided to show itself. The sky is a washed-out blue, the kind that is almost too bright after all that gray, and the ground still drinks greedily from the storm’s excess rain. The air carries that clean, sharp scent of wet earth and pine as if the air is now cleansed.
Everyone’s restless. The pack’s been cooped up for too long — bodies pressed into small spaces, tempers simmering under forced politeness and smiles.
Nyx has been especially antsy the last few days. Pacing and humming in the back of my mind like static that won't clear.
“Finally,” she whispers. “Sunlight.”
I can feel the need to shift crawling up the back of my neck, the sensation prickling just beneath my skin. It's been far too long already, and the add
