Chapter 22 Twenty-two

• The late afternoon sun hangs low over Cedar Grove when I finally arrive, my legs aching from the long trek and my nerves frayed from hitching rides with three different humans who asked too many questions. The pack house looms ahead, its familiar stone facade both welcoming and suffocating at once.
• The second I step through the heavy wooden doors, conversation dies. Every head in the entrance hall turns toward me—some surprised, others curious, a few openly hostile. The attention makes my skin crawl, and I resist the urge to turn around and walk back out.
• Before I can make sense of it, a girl around my age breaks from the crowd. Kimberly Richards, with her bottle-blonde hair and too-tight dress, rushes toward me wearing the most painfully fake smile I've ever seen.