Chapter 27 027

Chapter 27 027
I barely slept.

It wasn’t the fight itself. It was the silence after — thick, heavy, the kind you feel more than hear. I lay there in the dark, staring at the ceiling, listening to the house creak and settle. At some point, Dominic showed up. I heard him pause by the door, then move to the chair. And that was it. No talking. Just darkness and quiet, both of us awake, neither one saying anything.

I got up before dawn.

Dressed and slipped out early, before Petra’s steps, before Kael’s knock, before anyone else started moving around. I needed air — really just needed to get away, to the garden, to the only spot in the whole damn place where I could let my face do whatever it wanted.

It was cold for real this time, the kind that doesn’t pretend it’s still autumn. My breath came out white. Frost covered the grass, and the rose bush in the corner had pretty much given up, only a handful of stubborn brown leaves clinging on.

I sat on that bench, wrapped my coat tighter, stared at nothing.

My wolf felt calmer today, not gone but settled, the nervous energy drained out of her. She just sat there inside me, steady, like she’d sorted the whole mess while I lay awake. Whatever she’d decided, she wasn’t sharing it yet.

I stayed there a while.

Footsteps crunched on the path.

I didn’t have to look — I already knew.

He stopped when he saw me.

Honestly, he wasn’t surprised. If he was, he hid it. He looked like a guy who’d been searching for something and found it waiting for him instead.

We stared at each other across the garden.

He didn’t turn away.

Didn’t say a word. Just walked down the path and sat at the far end of the bench — the usual space between us, careful as ever — then looked out at the garden in silence.

I watched the rose bush.

Cold wrapped around us. Somewhere past the wall, a bird tried to sing, then quit. Frost on the grass caught the light, and for a few minutes all you had was this: two people on a bench in a cold garden, not speaking.

It wasn’t comfortable.

But it wasn’t exactly unfriendly either.

Somewhere in between, without a neat name.

—

He spoke up first.

"The soldier should have come to me before stopping you," he said. "That wasn’t right. You shouldn’t have learned about it that way."

I stayed quiet.

"I should have told you before I made the call." He paused. "I’m not—" he stopped himself, then tried again. "I don’t have a good reason for not doing it. I thought I was being efficient. I didn’t think about how it would hit you."

I glanced at his face.

He stared out at the garden. Jaw tight, as usual, but with something softer underneath. Whatever I said last night, it got in there and stuck.

"I heard you yesterday," he said. "About your house. About growing up—" he stumbled, "I didn’t know the whole story."

"I didn’t tell you the whole story."

"No." He was quiet for a beat. "You shouldn’t have had to. I should’ve asked."

I looked back at the rose bush.

Something moved in my chest — not my wolf, she was warm and quiet — something else, something that happens when someone tells the truth straight out and stops apologizing for it, and you weren’t expecting it.

"I wasn’t only talking about my father’s house," I said.

He faced me.

"When I said I was being managed," I said. "I didn’t just mean growing up. I meant here, too. In this pack. There are people in this house who decided who I am, what I’m for, how much space I get, and nobody bothered to ask me." I held his gaze. "I need you not to be one of them."

He watched me for a while.

"Who," he said.

Simple. Clear. Sharper than usual.

I looked at him.

Thought about Petra in the library, the books on the table, the rolled-up document. How much I knew — how much I was still holding back — and wondered if this was the time.

It wasn’t. Not yet. I didn’t have enough, wasn’t ready, and giving him half the story could do more damage than waiting just a little longer.

"I’m still figuring it out," I said. It was honest, even if it wasn’t everything.

He studied me, trying to read between the lines.

"When you know," he said.

"I’ll tell you."

He wasn’t kidding. "I mean it," he said. "When you know — come to me."

Something in his voice. Not an order. Not really a request either. More like an open invitation, like he was leaving the door unlocked.

I looked at him.

"Okay," I said.

He nodded.

Turned back to the garden.

We sat there while morning stretched in, the light shifting from gray to gold, frost fading on the grass. Sounds of the pack drifted over the wall — voices, footsteps, the day starting up — and neither of us made a move to leave just yet.

The space between us on the bench stayed the same,

but it felt different somehow.

Not sealed off.

Not sharp and soured from yesterday.

Just — open. Like a window long stuck, and someone finally worked the edge loose.

Not wide open.

But possible.

My wolf settled, warm and sure in my chest.

I pressed my palm to my sternum, just feeling her there.

She pressed back.

Steady. Solid. Being here with me.

I sat until Dominic stood up and went inside. And then I stayed a little longer — just me, the garden, the morning, and