Pushing aside his own unease, Wade led Milo along their usual route, skirting the forest’s edge. A tapestry of wildflowers—blues, yellows, and purples—crowded the path, their gentle fragrance mingling with pine.
Normally, Wade found comfort in these small wonders: the soft rustle of petals in the breeze, the way dusk gilded each petal with fading light. Tonight, though, even the brilliance of the flowers did little to settle his nerves.