The words are soft.
Almost inaudible over the sound of the engine and the highway beneath our tires.
But Sage hears.
His arm tightens around my shoulders, pulling me closer.
"For what?"
I close my eyes.
Let the tears prick at my eyelids without falling.
"For coming back for me."
The simple statement carries weight.
History.
The understanding that they didn't have to, that they chose to, that the choice meant everything.
Sage's lips press against my temple—soft, reverent, the kiss of someone who knows exactly what those words cost me to say.
"Always," he murmurs against my skin. "We'll always come back for you."
Always.
The promise hangs in the air between us—fragile and fierce and absolutely true.
In the front seat, I hear Kai's voice—quiet but carrying.
"That's what pack means."
Pack.
The word settles into my chest like a stone.
Heavy.
Permanent.
Real.
My toe taps against the floor one more time.
One-two-three-four.
One-two-three-four.
But the rhythm is gentler now.
Less desperate.
More like a heartbeat.
More like the pulse of something that isn't just surviving anymore.
Something that's learning to live.
