CHAPTER 79
MATTEO
RESCUE MISSION
I didn’t sleep on the plane. Not really. I closed my eyes, sure. I leaned my head back, pretended the engine’s hum was something soothing instead of a constant reminder that I was suspended in the air with nothing but thin metal between me and a very long fall. But my mind never shut up. It paced the way Santiago had back in the kitchen, tight circles, sharp turns, no release.
Every bump of turbulence had my wolf stirring, nails scraping faintly at the inside of my ribs, irritated and restless.
Easy, I told him. Not yet.
He didn’t like flying. Neither did I. Wolves weren’t meant to be this far off the ground, boxed in with strangers who smelled like stress, cheap cologne, and stale coffee. I spent most of the flight cataloguing exits, counting steps
