“That’s the general plan, yes.”
Willow turns to me. “You’re actually considering this?”
I wrap my hands around my coffee cup. The ceramic is warm. Grounding.
“I don’t want to leave,” I say. “I just got back. This ranch, this pack… I’ve been here less than a week.” The words come hard because they’re true. “But Merric’s right. If Bern is making moves, Frostbourne is where the fight will be. And if I stay here while Merric faces that alone, I’m doing the same thingwe both did before. Handling it separately. Choosing the wrong path because it’s familiar instead of the right one because it’s terrifying.”
Willow purses her lips, then she straightens in her chair. “The ranch will be fine.”
“Willow—”
“We survived while you were gone. We’ll survive a little longer.”
“You’ll have more this time,” Merric says. “Dane’s staying to finish the barn. Briar can cover the borders. Sienna can keep progress on track. The wards are stronger than they’ve been for a long time.”
“You’re right.” She nods. “And after what Hatchett saw at the parley—a live Brenna Corvus with white fire—the purist packs aren’t going to test us anytime soon.” She sets her jaw. The family resemblance between us has never been clearer. “Go. Take Cameron. Show those Frostbourne wolves what Corvus blood looks like when it walks through the front door.”
“You sound like my mother,” I tell her.
“Your mother would have told you the same thing.”
“I know.” I smile.
Greta clears the plates. “I’ll pack food for the road. Merric, you’ll eat properly, or I’ll know about it.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Cameron, you’ll mind your mother and your—” She pauses before she says “father,” likely aware that it’s too soon to go there. “You’ll mind your mother and behave like a Corvus.”
“Yes, Greta.”
The decision is made. Not with ceremony. With pancakes and coffee and the momentum of people who’ve learned that waiting for the right moment is a waste of time.
I spend the morning preparing. Ward reinforcement: one more pass along the north and east boundaries, pouring enoughmagic into the lines to hold them for weeks. It drains me, but the alternative is leaving Willow with degraded protection, and I won’t do that.
Rook coordinates the logistics. Supplies for the journey, communications protocol with Briar and Sienna for daily check-ins. He moves through the planning with the efficiency I’ve come to expect from him, nothing wasted, nothing overlooked.
Merric and I don’t get another private moment until the afternoon. I’m at the north boundary, finishing the last section of ward work, when he finds me.
“You don’t have to pour everything into this,” he says. “You’ll burn yourself out before we get to Frostbourne.”
“My pack. My wards. My decision.”
“Our pack.” He says it mildly. Testing the word. “And you’re my mate, which means your health is also my responsibility.”
“That’s not how this works.”
“How does it work?”
“I make my own choices, and you respect them.”
“Even when they’re stupid?”
“Especially then.”
He laughs. It’s the second time I’ve heard him really laugh—open, unguarded—and my wolf rolls over in my chest with an embarrassing lack of dignity.
“I’m scared,” I tell him. Because honesty is the new experiment. “Of Frostbourne. Of what they’ll see when they look at me.”
