Chapter 134 Hundred and thirty four

Chapter 134 Hundred and thirty four
Rowan's POV

I woke to the smell of burnt toast and Marcus swearing quietly in the kitchen, and for a moment I just lay there, listening, letting the ordinary sound settle over me like a blanket.

"You're cooking," I said, wandering in still half-dressed, hair a mess, finding him scowling at a pan like it had personally betrayed him.

"I'm attempting to cook," he corrected, scraping the blackened toast into the bin. "Martha's visiting her sister for the week. I thought I'd surprise you both."

"With charcoal?"

"With effort," he said, mock-offended, though a grin tugged at his mouth. "The effort counts for something."

Julian appeared in the doorway, took one look at the smoke still curling faintly near the ceiling, and burst out laughing. "I leave you alone for one meeting and you set fire to breakfast."

"I did not set fire to anything," Marcus said with as much dignity as he could manage. "There was smoke. Smoke is not fire."

"Smoke is generally a sign fire was recently involved," I said, settling onto a stool, thoroughly entertained.

"Both of you, out," Marcus said, pointing dramatically toward the door. "I don't need an audience for my humiliation."

"Absolutely not," Julian said, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorframe. "This is the best entertainment I've had in weeks. I'm staying."

I laughed, the sound surprising me with how easily it came, how light my chest felt after weeks of tension over Ashfall and Renfield and careful diplomacy. "Let me help. I actually know how eggs work."

"I know how eggs work," Marcus grumbled, though he stepped aside to let me take over regardless.

We eventually managed something edible, eggs and considerably less incinerated toast. The three of us settled around the small kitchen table instead of the formal dining room, something I'd started insisting on more often these past weeks. Ordinary meals in ordinary rooms, the kind of small rebellion against constant formality that felt more precious than any grand gesture.

"I got a letter from Elowen this morning," I said, spreading jam across my toast. "She's asking whether she can formally take on advising the pack's diplomatic correspondence. Apparently she's been shadowing Aldren for weeks and thinks she's found her footing."

"Has she?" Julian asked, genuine interest in his voice.

"I think so," I said. "She's good at it. Careful, thoughtful, exactly the kind of temperament this role needs."

"I like the idea," Marcus said. "Gives her something real to build here, instead of just existing in your shadow trying to make amends forever."

"That's what I told her," I said, warmth settling in my chest at the thought. "She deserves her own place in this, not just a permanent apology tour."

Julian reached over, stealing a piece of my toast without asking. I swatted his hand half-heartedly, more out of habit than actual annoyance.

"You have your own toast," I said.

"Yours tastes better."

"It's the same toast, Julian."

"Everything tastes better when it's yours," he said, entirely too pleased with himself, and I rolled my eyes despite the smile I couldn't quite suppress.

"You're both ridiculous," Marcus said, though his own grin gave away how much he was enjoying the easy banter.

"We're allowed to be ridiculous," I said. "Do you know how long it's been since I've had a morning that didn't involve a crisis report before I'd even finished my tea?"

"Too long," Julian admitted, sobering slightly. "I keep forgetting how to just exist without bracing for the next disaster."

"We're learning," I said, reaching for his hand. "Slowly. This morning is proof of that."

"This morning is proof I nearly burned down the kitchen," Marcus said dryly.

"That too," I agreed, laughing again.

A knock interrupted us, and one of the younger warriors, barely more than a boy, poked his head in nervously. "Apologies for interrupting. Martha's sister sent word, she'll be returning a day early."

"Thank you," I said, and once he'd gone, turned back to Marcus with a raised eyebrow. "That means we have exactly one more day of unsupervised cooking before Martha reclaims her kitchen."

"I'll take it as a personal challenge to actually improve by tomorrow," Marcus said.

"Please don't," Julian said. "I quite liked breathing air that wasn't smoke-flavored."

We spent the remainder of breakfast trading easy, ordinary conversation, plans for the coming week, small updates about pack members. I had been getting to know properly now that crisis wasn't constantly demanding her full attention, gentle teasing that had nothing to do with strategy or survival.

After breakfast, Julian and Marcus headed toward the training yard to oversee warrior drills. I found myself lingering in the garden instead, the same eastern garden I'd properly noticed for the first time weeks ago, now blooming fuller with the changing season.

Elowen found me there an hour later, her expression carrying a mixture of nerves and hope. "Did you get my letter?"

"I did," I said, gesturing for her to sit beside me. "I think it's a wonderful idea."

Relief broke across her face. "Truly?"

"Truly. You've earned this, Elowen. Not as penance, not as obligation. Because you're actually good at it, and because you deserve to build something that's genuinely yours."

Tears welled in her eyes, though she blinked them back with a small, grateful laugh. "I keep waiting for the moment this all feels less fragile. Like I might wake up and discover none of this forgiveness was real."

"It's real," I said softly. "I promise you, it's real."

She reached for my hand, squeezing gently. "Thank you. For everything. For choosing to see me as someone capable of change, instead of just someone who hurt you."

"We're both still changing," I said. "I think that's rather the point of actually living, instead of just surviving."

We sat together in comfortable quiet for a while, watching late afternoon light slant golden across the garden, and I let myself feel, fully and without reservation, the particular, precious ordinariness of a day that hadn't required a single act of desperate courage.