As I stood there, staring at those memories, a wave of exhaustion hit me. It wasn’t just physical—it was the kind of tiredness that seeped into your bones after fighting for someone who stopped fighting for you.
My mind drifted back to when I first met Asher, back when things were so different.
It had been years ago, during one of my late-night runs in wolf form. I’d gone deeper into the forest than usual, my paws crunching over leaves, the air thick with the scent of pine. That’s when I heard them—the low growls, the sharp snarls. Rogues.
I barely had time to react before they charged. There were three of them, their eyes glowing with hunger and desperation. My wolf fought back fiercely, but I was outnumbered and cornered. Just when I thought it was over, a blur of dark fur crashed into the rogues, sending them flying.
It was Asher; my brother best friend. He didn’t hesitate, didn’t falter. His wolf was relentless, taking them down one by one until they fled, yelping into the night.
After shifting back, he’d wrapped his jacket around me, his voice low but soothing. "You okay?"