We left the city before the light began to soften, not because there was any imdiate danger behind us, but because neither of us wanted to remain in a place that had already started to feel too narrow for what we carried with us.
The streets had lost their anonymity, the noise no longer acting as a shield but as sothing that blurred thought instead of quieting it, and staying would have ant pretending that nothing had shifted when everything clearly had.
Rowan didn’t ask whether I was ready to leave. He simply started walking, as though the decision had already been made sowhere between us without needing to be spoken aloud. I followed, not because I trusted him completely, but because standing still felt worse, like lingering in a mont that was already closing behind us.
As we moved further away from the city, the change in the air was gradual but undeniable. The sharpness faded first, then the constant background noise softened until it dissolved entirely, leaving behind sothing quieter, sothing that felt closer to what I was used to, even if it no longer felt entirely safe.
We walked side by side, but there was a space between us that hadn’t existed before, sothing invisible but persistent, shaped by everything Lucien had said and everything Rowan had chosen not to.
For a while, I let the silence remain, not because I didn’t have questions, but because I was beginning to understand that forcing them too quickly would only lead to answers that felt incomplete. Still, the thought didn’t disappear. It stayed, circling back, refusing to be ignored.
"You were in love with her," I said eventually, my voice steady, though the words carried more weight than I intended.
Rowan didn’t stop walking, but sothing in his posture shifted just slightly, enough to make it clear that the question had landed exactly where I ant it to.
"Yes," he said.
There was no hesitation, no attempt to soften it or redirect it, and that honesty caught off guard in a way I hadn’t expected.
I took a slow breath, letting that settle before I spoke again.
"What happened?" I asked.
Rowan exhaled quietly, as though the answer required more than just words.
"She was from another pack," he said after a mont. "Not one we were in conflict with, but not one we trusted either. It was... complicated."
"That sounds like an understatent," I replied, though there was no edge in my voice, only quiet curiosity.
"It is," he said.
We continued walking, the forest gradually closing in around us as the path beca less defined, forcing us to adjust our pace without fully breaking the rhythm we had settled into.
I kept my gaze forward, but my attention remained on him.
"Did she leave?" I asked.
"No," he said.
The answer ca more quietly this ti, and sothing in it made turn my head slightly, studying him more closely.
"Then what do you an you lost her?"
This ti, he stopped. I stopped too, the shift in the mont settling between us without needing to be acknowledged. For a few seconds, he didn’t answer, and I almost thought he wouldn’t.
Then he said, "I made a decision that I thought would protect her."
I waited.
"It didn’t," he added.
The simplicity of the words made them heavier, not lighter, and I felt sothing tighten in my chest before I could stop it.
"That’s still vague," I said, though my voice had softened.
Rowan’s gaze lifted slightly, eting mine just long enough to make it clear that he wasn’t avoiding the truth, only choosing how much of it to give.
"I thought I could control the situation by deciding what she needed to know," he said. "I thought if I managed it carefully enough, I could keep her safe without forcing her into sothing she didn’t fully understand."
Sothing about that sounded familiar in a way I didn’t like.
"And instead?" I asked quietly.
"And instead," he said, "I took away her choice, and by the ti I realized that, it was already too late."
The silence that followed didn’t feel empty. It felt full of sothing that didn’t need to be explained. I looked away first, letting the weight of that settle sowhere I couldn’t fully define.
"That’s what you’re doing now," I said after a mont, my voice quieter but no less certain.
Rowan didn’t deny it.
"Yes," he said.
There was no defensiveness in the answer, no attempt to justify it, and that made it harder to push against.
"At least you’re consistent," I replied, though there was no humor in it.
A faint shift crossed his expression, sothing almost like a reaction, but it didn’t linger long enough to take shape.
We started walking again, but the distance between us had changed in a way that was difficult to na. It wasn’t wider, and it wasn’t smaller. It was simply different, shaped now by sothing that had been brought into the open whether we were ready for it or not.
As the forest grew denser, the light filtered differently through the trees, casting longer shadows that moved with the wind in ways that felt less predictable. The path narrowed until it was barely visible at all, forcing us to rely more on instinct than direction.
"This is where he was last seen," Rowan said after a while.
"And you trust him?" I asked.
Rowan considered that question more carefully than I expected.
"I trust that he won’t lie," he said.
"That doesn’t an he’ll tell the truth," I replied.
"No," Rowan agreed. "It doesn’t."
Sothing about that answer stayed with as we moved deeper into the forest, the air growing heavier in a way that didn’t feel threatening, but didn’t feel neutral either.
After a few minutes, I slowed slightly, my attention shifting as sothing brushed against my awareness, subtle enough to miss if I hadn’t been paying attention, but distinct enough to feel intentional.
"Do you feel that?" I asked.
Rowan stopped imdiately, his focus sharpening.
"Yes."
The forest had gone quieter, not completely still, but different, as though sothing had drawn the attention of everything around us.
I took a slow breath, letting my senses stretch outward, trying to separate what I was feeling from the natural rhythm of the environnt.
It didn’t feel like danger but it didn’t feel random either.
"He knows we’re here," Rowan said quietly.
"Or he’s been waiting," I replied.
For a mont, neither of us moved, as though stepping forward without understanding what we were stepping into would change sothing we couldn’t take back.
Then a voice reached us, calm and asured, carrying through the trees as if distance didn’t matter.
"You took longer than I expected."
I felt my body still before I consciously reacted, my attention snapping toward the sound even though I couldn’t see anyone yet.
Rowan stepped slightly in front of , not blocking , but placing himself in a position that made his intention clear without needing to say it.
"That depends," Rowan replied, his voice steady, "on whether you expected us at all."
A faint sound followed, sothing close to a quiet laugh, though it held no real amusent.
"I expected one of you," the voice said. "Not both."
I shifted slightly, stepping just enough to see past Rowan without fully moving around him.
"I’m not here by accident," I said.
There was a pause, longer this ti, as though the speaker was reconsidering sothing.
"I can see that," the voice replied.
And then he stepped out of the shadows.
He looked older, but not in a way that suggested weakness. There was nothing fragile about him, nothing uncertain in the way he carried himself. His presence felt steady, deeply rooted, as though ti had passed around him rather than through him.
His gaze settled on , and for a mont, everything else seed to fade.
There was no rush in the way he studied , no imdiate reaction, only quiet observation that felt far more unsettling than if he had shown surprise.
"Interesting," he said softly.
Sothing in reacted to that single word, not with fear, but with recognition that didn’t yet have a shape.
And in that mont, I understood sothing I hadn’t fully grasped before.
We hadn’t co here to find answers.
We had co here to face sothing that already knew the questions.
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