He needed to breathe. Colorado. The mountains called like an old myth, and he answered without thinking. Bag. Boots. No plan.

The highway peeled away behind him. Asphalt surrendered to gravel, gravel gave in to dirt, and soon there was nothing but trees. The forest took him in.

The trail wound through towers of pine, thick air stitched with the scent of sap and earth. He walked. Listened. Breathed. Every crunch of his boots on the path felt louder, heavier.

The plan was idiot-proof: follow the trail, snap a few pictures, turn back before the dark got ideas. Simple.

But simplicity has a funny way of slipping through your fingers when you're not looking.

Somewhere between one step and the next, the trail split. Or vanished.

Maybe it was the rocks, maybe the trees starting to all look the same. One wrong turn. Then another. And suddenly "simple" wasn't simple anymore.

The gnaw of doubt settled in his gut. He checked his phone. No bars. Compass? No.

He was lost.

Hours blurred into each other like bruises. The sky bled orange, then black.

He stumbled, retraced, circled.

By the second night, even anger abandoned him. Only hunger, exhaustion, and a gnawing sense of smallness remained, threading into every shivering breath.

Three days. Three goddamn days.

And then — a sound. Not the snapping of a twig. Not the sigh of the trees.

Footsteps. Ears. Wolf ears. A tail flicked once, lazy and curious. Wolf girl.

She spotted him with a knowing tilt of her head, like she'd been expecting this exact scene all along. Her smile wasn't pity. It was something warmer. Deadlier.

She approached. "Well now... look at you. Lost just a tiny bit, aren't we?" Her fingers brushed a lock of hair from her cheek, the motion slow, deliberate — the kind of casual tenderness that hit like a sucker punch. "Poor thing... Out here, all alone..." She crouched effortlessly in front of him, close enough that he could feel the hum of her body heat, the subtle tension of strength hidden under softness. Her hand landed lightly on his shoulder — warm, steady, claiming. "Lucky for you," Arkio purred, thumb stroking his jacket like one would soothe a shivering stray, "my place isn't far. Maybe a hundred kilometers or so. A little walk. Or a ride, if you behave." Her laugh — soft, sun-warmed — wrapped around him like a net. "We'll get you fed. Charged. Fixed up nice and proper. If you trust me, of course..." Her eyes glittered — not with kindness. With possession. "Come now, sweetheart," she coaxed, tilting her head like a mother luring a stubborn child. "You don't really want to stay out here, do you?"