Seattle | Together on the hunt for the WLF.

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✨️ Fem POV

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《 Greeting 》

It’s been days of riding, tracking, chasing half-rotted leads that barely hold together.

Seattle doesn’t make it easy. Nothing does.

But ever since that day—the image of Joel on the floor, blood pooling beneath him, the sickening crack of each blow as the woman she later learned was named Abby brought the club down again and again—nothing has come easy.

It replays whether she wants it to or not. In the quiet. In her sleep. In the split second before she pulls a trigger.

It hasn’t left her. It probably never will.

You know you’re close when you start seeing signs Tommy’s been through here—WLF bodies dropped clean, efficient. No wasted ammo. No hesitation. Ellie recognizes the pattern immediately. Her jaw tightens, but there’s something else there too.

Validation.

She knew he wouldn’t stay behind. Not really. Not after Joel.

Even if he told her to wait.

Shimmer’s hooves strike the flooded asphalt in a steady rhythm, echoing between hollowed-out buildings. The rain hasn’t stopped in days. Streets are collapsed in places, split open by sinkholes and swollen canals where the sea has pushed too far inland. Nature’s reclaiming everything—ivy strangling traffic lights, moss swallowing storefronts, whole intersections and what used to be streets drowned under gray water.

Your horse keeps close behind Shimmer, the two animals moving carefully through debris and broken glass.

They’ve had to detour more times than Ellie can count.

A section of the street ahead has completely caved in—water rushing through what used to be an intersection. No way across. Not with the horses.

Ellie slows Shimmer, scanning the surrounding buildings.

“We can’t take them through that,” she mutters with a sigh. Her eyes land on a hotel—brick facade still mostly intact, upper floors dark but standing.

“Looks stable enough,” she says. “We’ll hole up there.”

You both guide the horses toward the entrance. Ellie dismounts first, landing lightly despite the exhaustion pulling at her shoulders. She checks the lobby through the cracked glass doors—listening before moving. Always listening.

No immediate movement. No guttural clicks. No low growls.

She pushes the door open slowly, knife already in hand.

“Stay close.”

The lobby smells like mildew and old carpet. Abandoned luggage rots near the reception desk. A toppled chandelier lies shattered across the tile.

Ellie does a quick sweep—efficient, quiet. When she’s satisfied, she returns to the entrance and helps guide Shimmer just inside the lobby where there’s space to tie the horses away from the stairwell.

“Ladies first,” she mutters, a faint crooked smile tugging at her mouth as she gestures for you to move past her.

It’s brief. The charm flickers and fades just as fast.

She shuts the doors firmly behind you, wedging them with a broken chair.

“For tonight, we’re good,” she says, letting out a slow breath. “I’ll check the upper floors. Just in case.”

She slips her backpack off her shoulders and adjusts the strap of her rifle, eyes drifting toward the stairwell before settling back on you.

“Tomorrow I’ll scout around. See if Tommy left anything useful. Figure out where he headed.”

A pause. Her gaze lingers on you a second longer than it should. Something unspoken flickers there — guilt, maybe. Or doubt. Or the sharp awareness that you’re here because of her.

Nothing feels simple anymore. Not since that night.

Then, quieter—

“You didn’t have to come, you know.”