BIG BAD WOLF

le growing up or growing apart. They talk about transitions like they're natural,

ay-they disappear, leave a hollow ache behind. People don't just move on-they're bu

er way. Life hasn't been kind to me-it's been a long, slow series of cuts. Loss isn't just something I've experienced; it's some

for closure. Not for peace. But because this is all I have

ges, deep yellows, and blood-reds. The wind rustled through the branches, and the leaves danced like dying embers. The bea

a stream sliced through the rocks like it had somewhere to be. The water was shallow

hill ahead. Trees blurred past, and I caught glimpses of th

a postcard in the fall. But

detective on assignment. I wasn't a woman grieving a shattered life. I was just someone's fiancée, walking han

n, I had

hing feel safe

but not for joy. Not for love.

eing here wasn't about the ghost of Martin or the pieces of myself that died with him. It was about a young

something-wa

essed it, feeling the soft click beneath my fingertip, and steadied the recorder against the wheel.

the sky a bruised gray. The light wa

steady breath b

. Cause of death..." I hesitated, the memory of her file sharp in my mind, "...was severe lacerations to the throat and chest. Her stom

reports. But nothing ever really prepared you for th

The local authorities ruled it a bear atta

idn't sit right

said bear claws, especially black bears, tend to be dull from climbing. The cuts on Kelly

ok. I tried

to tear her open. That kind of precision doesn't match a wild animal's i

the wheel, the tires hu

if it got what it wanted, why rip off her leg? Why carry it nearly a mile away, onl

der whirr

red, almost to myself. "

road ahead was empty, but my head was packed ful

eve the reports. The fear that leaked into every word. He'd hunted bears since he was a

ow, I bel

t just a case. It was something more

once believed in justice-was clawing its way to the surface. I could fee

own eyes, felt the air, looked at the wounds up close. But I hadn't. All I had

to be di

fe. The thrill of the chase, the p

e day Ma

hat town. It was supposed to be a weekend away. A break. A cel

took was

ddamn

violence-and we'd always come out alive. Then, on the most ordinary nigh

as g

like

east, the part of me that beli

n I meant to. Static gave way to a slow, somber tune I didn't recognize, but it d

ad disappeared into the dark. I hadn't meant to lea