Lina

My mother smells like lavender and eucalyptus.

It’s the scent of my childhood—soft hands and sharpened claws.

I bury my face into her shoulder and breathe her in like I can memorize it, like I can carry it with me into whatever waits beyond our borders.

“I’ll be back soon,” I tell her.

My voice is steady. I don’t know how.

Her arms tighten around me, and for a second, I’m not a warrior, not a strategist, not the female people look to when things start falling apart.

I’m just her daughter.

“You’d better,” she murmurs into my hair. “Or I’ll come drag you home myself.”

My lycan hums...