The journey back to Derek’s territory is silent.
Not peaceful. Not companionable. Controlled.
The kind of silence that has edges, where every sound feels deliberate because nothing is allowed to happen accidentally. Even our footfalls seem measured, spaced just far enough apart to avoid overlap. The forest slides past us in restrained segments, trees blurring together while the road beneath our feet remains solid and unyielding. No one breaks formation. No one drifts. No one speaks.
Derek sets the pace.
Not fast. Not slow. Exact.
He walks at my side with the same precision he brought into the Alpha’s hall earlier, posture relaxed but coiled, awareness stretched outward in every direction at once. He does not look rushed, but nothing about him is casual. This is movement with purpose,
