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"That's because I like having a working spine."

Threk grinned. "Come on. You'd get to play DJ."

"You touch the wheel," Veyr said without turning his head as he got in, "and I will neuter you with a rusty butter knife."

Seren slid into the back seat, watching them with a mix of horror and affection. They were chaos incarnate up front—Threk with his wild hair and shameless grin, Veyr brooding like the end of the world was near.

"Aren't you glad we brought Threk?" she murmured to Hagan as he settled in beside her.

"They're like an exuberant golden retriever and pinscher," he said dryly. "So, no. I'm not."

The jeep pulled away from the curb, leaving the city behind. It smelled like old leather, pine, and wolf. Veyr was driving like he was in a rally, eyes sharp behind the wheel, lips tight in concentration.

Threk, long legs folded awkwardly, tried to wrestle the aux cable and the aircon vents into submission. "I could drive, you know," he grumbled. "I have a license now."

"If you so much as look at the wheel again, I'm ripping off your tail and mounting it like a hood ornament," Veyr snapped without looking away from the road.

"You're just mad I'm prettier."

Veyr just kept driving like Threk wasn't sitting next to him.

Seren stifled a laugh in the back seat. Hagan, seated beside her, chuckled softly but his gaze was on her wrist—her left wrist, where the faded bonding tattoo lingered like a ghost. His fingers, rough and warm, swept over the ink, then dipped lower to trace the scar that still whispered of blood and sacrifice.

His eyes darkened.

"I should have stopped you," he murmured. "I should have fought harder. For us."

She didn't speak, not with words. But the bond was stirring and strengthening between them, —enough for him to feel her ache and the beginnings of her forgiveness tangled together.

"You alright back there?" Veyr called, breaking the moment like a twig underfoot. "Or should I turn the music up so we don't have to marinate in unspoken pain and regret?"

"That's Veyr," Seren said. "As subtle as an sledgehammer."

"You still haven't told me," he said, glancing at her in the rear-view mirror, "how the whole 'Whispers in the Wind' thing works."

Seren hesitated. "I've always... heard things. Animals. Forests. But I didn't realize it was unique. I think the spirits that live in the shifters... the animal inside them... they're drawn to me. Maybe they speak without realizing. It doesn't work with humans, though."

Threk twisted in his seat, blinking slowly. "That's how you found me, isn't it?"

Veyr raised an eyebrow. "Found you? "

"Yeah," Threk said, voice suddenly soft. "She brought me back. I was one of the Forgotten"

"How?" Hagan asked, voice sharp with shock.

Seren shrugged. "I think... when we were snuggled up at night, I could dreamshare. I'd find him in the dark, lead him out. But it only works if we're in contact."

Hagan went stiff. "You snuggled?"

"She snuggled life back into me, bro. I am ever so grateful."

"Keep that part to yourself," Hagan muttered, jaw tight.

"Agreed," Veyr said. "No more dreamsharing bedtime stories. Not safe if word gets out."

They all nodded. The silence that followed was filled only by the sound of tires on gravel and the wind through half-open windows.

After the pitstop—a dusty, low-slung tavern nestled at the midpoint between the city and the wild territories—they pushed on, bellies full and moods quieter. The journey from there to Vargrheim stretched another four hours. Slowly, the scenery changed. The lush green of outer lands began to dull, trees thinning and grass fading into brittle yellow. Dust replaced dew. Even the air grew heavier, as though holding its breath. An unspoken tension crept into the Jeep.