A broken bottle lay half buried in sand. She wrapped her sleeve around its jagged edge and tested the point. It would cut. “Easy,” she whispered to the trapped animal, though she doubted it could hear above its own panic.
The wolf stood a yard away, tail stiff, eyes flicking between Noemi’s hands and the net. When she stepped forward, the wolf gave a soft chuff—almost permission. Noemi knelt, ignoring the stench of oil. The net cords were tough, but the glass sliced them after a few strokes.