Chapter 278

Lila spoke softly, her words hanging in the silence, in the balance within the pack, seeming to resound within her mind: “Every choice ripples through into others. Be sure yours aren’t the one drowning someone you care for.”

I glared hard at the paper clutched in my shaking hands. Calla’s uneven words across the page read clear as day: the demand, “Sow doubt. Make them question him, or I’ll make sure your past comes to light.”

I felt my heart twist, words cutting deeper into me like a knife as I reread the message over and over. The face of Rowan flashed into my mind, the honesty in his smile, the brightness of his eyes when he spoke about earning again the trust of his pack. Why does he have to be so good? Why did I have to care?

I lay under a mountain of blankets, smothering, unable to get out. The murmurs of the pack outside my room filtered into my ears, a toneless reminder of how much it would cost me if Calla followed through with her threats.

“What am I doing?” I whispered, pacing. “I should have just walked away when she first called.” But Calla knew too much. She was the key to unraveling it all, the life I’d tried to build here. It was some kind of treachery, a betrayal, to that one fragile piece inside me that still hoped I could be better when… Rowan betrayed me.

I found him at the training grounds, his form economical as he showed techniques to a circle of younger wolves. His voice was steady, firm with corrections, yet the patience was distinct beneath the weight of whispered concern surrounding his name.

“You’re gripping too tight,” he told one young werewolf, adjusting the werewolf’s hands on the practice sword. “Loosen up. If your hands are stiff, your strikes won’t flow.” The wolf nodded, adjusting his grip as Rowan stepped back. “Better. Now try again.”

I’d stepped hesitantly to the edge of the open circle, less certain this was a brilliant notion being nearer to him, but then he looked at me with a soft, sudden smile.

“Lila,” he said, mopping sweat off his forehead. “What’re you doing out here?”

Tripping over my words, my readied pretext disappeared. “I… just wanted to, um, check on you,” I heard myself saying weakly, managing a smile I forced onto my face, hoping that way the words sounded less strained. “You’ve been busy.”

He chuckled low and nodded toward the sparring wolves. “They keep me on my toes. But it’s good. It feels… normal.”

I sat down on a stump beside him, fidgeting my hands nervously in my lap. “You seem different,” I ventured. “More confident, maybe?”

He paused, weighing the words it seemed. “I’m trying,” he said. “Each day feels like a chance to prove I am not the wolf I used to be.”

The honesty of those words shrunk my chest as guilt chomped down on the edges of my resolution.

“Rowan, don’t you ever get this feeling like you are fighting a fight that nobody sees?”

He turned to face me; his brow furrowed. “All the time. But you keep on fighting anyway. Right?”

“Right,” I echoed, barely above a whisper.

We sat there a bit longer, the soft sparring sounds of the wolves drifting across the field. It was some time before Rowan broke the silence.

“You’ve been around a lot more lately,” he said softly, still questioning. “Not that I mind. It’s nice having someone who doesn’t look at me like I’m about to explode.”

I laughed at the soft, unexpected—even to me—“Maybe I just see what others don’t.”

He turned fully to me, his face unreadable. “And that is?”

“A wolf who cares too much,” I said without thinking, then hastened to add, “About the pack, I mean.”

His lips curled with a small smile. “Careful, Lila. You’re starting to sound like a friend.”

The word hit harder than I meant it to, and I made myself turn away. “Maybe that’s what you need,” I said slowly.

Later, the sun well on its way into the sunset, Rowan and I sat at the edge of the training grounds, younger wolves dispersing this way and that. The coolness of the air, the weight of the day settling over us.

“You ever think about leaving?” he asked abruptly, his voice low.

“Leaving?” I repeated, surprised.

He nodded, his gaze distant. “Sometimes it feels like no matter what I do, it’ll never be enough. Like I’ll always be ‘the wolf who messed up.’”

I hesitated, the lump in my throat making it hard to speak. “Rowan, everyone makes mistakes. It’s what you do after that matters.”

He gave a hollow laugh. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It’s not,” I said. “But you’ve come so far. Doesn’t that count for something?”

His eyes met mine, the vulnerability there striking. “I want to believe that,” he said softly.

As we walked back toward the village, this disquiet would not clear itself from my chest. Rowan’s words clung to me, and heavier than ever, this weight of guilt I carried with me was heavier than ever.

“Thanks for today,” he said, as we parted ways. “It helped.”

I nodded, forced a smile. “Anytime.”

But as I stepped inside my room, my heart dropped. A folded piece of paper was waiting for me on my bed, Calla’s spiky handwriting springing up at me: “Meet me at the edge of the territory at dawn. Or I’ll tell them everything.”

I crushed the note in my fist, her words heavy against me. It was my past, coming to dismantle everything that I’d so neatly concealed.

I sat at the edge of my bed; nighttime, still, except for my breathing, broke it. “What am I going to do?” I whispered into the dark.