The biting wind whipped around Octavia, each gust a cruel reminder of the life she'd left behind. Her tattered clothes offered little protection against the cold, and her stomach gnawed with an emptiness that mirrored the hollowness in her chest. Every rustle of leaves, every snapping twig, sent a jolt of fear through her. She was a rogue now, an outcast, with nowhere to go and no one to turn to.

Her feet ached, but she pushed onward, her gaze fixed on the horizon, searching for anything that resembled safety. The memories of Dylan's sneering face, of Samantha's triumphant smirk, of the pack's endless cruelty, fueled her desperate flight. She had to keep moving, to outrun the ghosts that haunted her every step.