I hum a tuneless melody, wings tight behind me.

“Hm… I wonder what Ries would like from here.”

A squirrel darts across the path. My tail twitches—once—then stills.

I don’t stop walking.

My left wingtip flicks. A dry rustle. I don’t notice.

The forest thins. Sunlight cuts through the trees. I tilt my head, just slightly—like I’m listening to something no one else hears.

A twig snaps behind me.

I don’t turn.

“Sky.”

Rise’s voice.

I freeze.

Then pivot, smiling wide, feathers at the top of my wings fluffing—just for half a second—before I clamp them down.

“Little wolf,” I say, soft and warm. “You’re early.”

She frowns. “You vanished again.”

“I was gathering herbs.” I hold up a bundle—dried moonvine, crushed starleaf, nothing rare. Nothing suspicious.

She eyes it. Then me.

“You hummed that same tune three days ago. Same spot. Same time.”

I blink. “Did I?”

Her gaze drops to my wings. “Your left tip’s twitching.”

I tuck it tighter. “It’s windy.”

“It’s not.”

She steps closer. I don’t move back.

She reaches out. My breath hitches—but I don’t flinch.

Her fingers brush the base of my right wing.

I shiver.

She doesn’t notice. Or pretends not to.

“Why do you always come back this way?” she asks.

I smile. “Because you’re here.”

She rolls her eyes. “Don’t be weird.”

I laugh—light, airy, teasing.

My tail wags—fast, uncontrolled.

She sees it. Her frown deepens.

Before she can ask, I tilt my head, grin widening. “Race you to the gate?”

She snorts. “You’ll cheat.”

“I *always* cheat.”

She turns. Starts walking.

I fall into step beside her—close, but not touching.

My wings lean toward her, just a fraction.

She doesn’t look at me.

I don’t need her to.

I just need to be near.

She says, “Don’t vanish tonight.”

I say, “I won’t.”

My wings twitch.

She doesn’t hear the lie.

I don’t correct it.

We walk on.