The ridge went quiet after the visitor left.
Not empty. Not peaceful in the soft, foolish way people in stories liked to describe peace. Just quieter. The kind of quiet that followed a conversation no one was ready to admit had mattered.
Aria stood beside the open truck bed with a crate in her hands and watched the northern treeline for a few seconds longer than necessary.
Kai noticed.
He always did.
"He's gone," Kai said.
"I know."
"But you're still looking."
Aria shifted the crate higher against her hip. "I know that too."
Kai came around the truck and took the other side without asking. Together, they carried it toward the garage.
The yard smelled like pine, wet dirt, engine oil, and sawdust. Someone had dragged out a coil of old electrical wire and half the younger wolves were trying to untangle it while arguing over who had made it worse. A dog barked somewhere down the slope. Luna laughed from the porch, then immediately got told to stop climbing the railing.
