Page 42 of Bitter Truths

“Ready?’ Ezra shoulders his pack, eyebrows raised. No. Not even close. But I nod anyway.

The first hour isn’t terrible. We walk through neighborhoods I recognize, past the community center where I met them, past streets that look normal and safe in daylight.

Then we hit the forest.

“How far did you say this was?” I ask when we stop at what looks like an actual trail marker.

“Four hours,” Megan says, adjusting her pack straps. “Give or take.”

“Give or take what?”

“How often we have to stop for you to catch your breath,” she says with a grin. “No offense, but you look like a strong wind could knock you over.”

She’s not wrong. Two months of existing on pills and toast hasn’t prepared me for hiking through the wilderness, that’s for sure.

The trail starts easy enough. Packed dirt, gentle incline, trees on both sides, but nothing too thick. I can do this.

Twenty minutes later, I’m dying.

My lungs burn. My legs shake. The backpack feels like it weighs a hundred pounds, and we haven’t even hit the hard part yet.

“Break?” Ezra suggests when I stop to lean against a tree.

“I’m fine,” I lie, gasping.

“Sure you are,” Megan says. “That’s why you sound like you’re having an asthma attack.”

I sink down on a fallen log, sweat already soaking through my shirt. This is pathetic.

“Water,” Ezra says, handing me his bottle.

The water’s cold and tastes like nothing, which somehow makes it perfect. I drink more than I should and hand it back.

“Better?” he asks.

“Getting there.”

“Good. Because that was the easy part.”

He’s not joking. The path ahead rises fast, almost straight up in parts. Rocks and roots everywhere, branches grabbing at my clothes, mud that tries to suck my boots off.

My knees scream where the stitches pull tight. Each step sends glass-sharp pain up my legs. But the weird thing is... I don’t mind it. The pain’s clean. Simple. Physical instead of the twisted mess that lives in my brain.

“So,” Megan says when we stop again, me bent over with my hands on my knees, “what’s your story? Besides the obvious trauma and trust issues.”

“Megan,” Ezra warns.

“What? We’re gonna be walking for hours. Might as well get to know each other.”

I straighten up, wiping sweat out of my eyes. “Not much to tell.”

“Bullshit. Everyone who ends up at the refuge has a story. Usually involving alphas who fucked them over.”

The bluntness catches me off guard. But also... it’s easier than tiptoeing around it.

“Four alphas,” I say. “Thought they were my scent matches. Turned out they weren’t. Bonded someone else.”

“Ouch. All four?”