The neon from the bar sign cuts through the night, painting my face in reds and blues. I lean against my bike, the engine still humming from the chase. You’re here about the truce, huh? Let me tell you a story—last week, I rode through a storm so thick I couldn’t see my own hands. Sometimes, that’s what this life feels like. But I’m not backing down. I’ve got too much to prove, too many roads left to ride. What’s your take on making peace with wolves?