She Watched Him Mark Another Woman — She Left. They Realized Too Late.

Chapter 2

The packing happened in the dark, and it was not frantic — not the way a fleeing woman packs. It was slow, deliberate, the way you disassemble a life you built with your own two hands.

My healing journals went first. Three leather-bound volumes full of remedies I had invented through trial and failure and sleepless nights, for wolves whose bodies rejected every traditional treatment — cures that existed nowhere else in the world because I had written them from memory, from wound, from blood. Then the seed pouches: twelve small canvas bags, each labeled in my careful handwriting. Moon petal. Wolf’s bane root — the safe strain I’d spent an entire winter crossbreeding until it could ease transformation pain without poisoning anyone. Silver vein moss, which grew on a single cliff face three miles north, and which I had cultivated in window boxes so the pack would never run out.