Before I had time to think about it, we were back out running. It was pushing close to midday. We had already worked through more boxing and some sparring attempts, and now we were on the final run of the session. The sun was bearing down hard and every part of me wanted to pull my top off, but self-consciousness won that argument without much of a fight. I suffered quietly and watched Sean train in nothing but shorts with poorly concealed envy.
We were coming up on the quarter-mile mark when something shifted in me. I kept running, kept my pace steady, tried to convince myself it was just anxiety flaring up the way it always did when my body had been pushed past a certain point. But this was different in a way I couldn't argue myself out of. My wolf was restless in a way that had nothing to do with nerves — alert, focused, her attention pulled toward something specific.
I slowed down.
"Everything alright?" Sean called from behind me.
