“Like your brother?”
“Yes. Like Jonas, and like dozens of others who follow orders because the alternative is death. I’m not trying to save Thornridge. That pack is rotten to its core, and it needs to be destroyed. But when that destruction comes, innocent wolves are going to die alongside the guilty ones unless someone speaks up for them. Unless someone helps the allied packs understand that not every Thornridge wolf chose to be a monster.”
She turns from the window toward me. The firelight catches her features and makes her pale eyes look almost luminous against the shadows.
“And you want to be that someone? The voice for the innocent Thornridge wolves?”
“I want to try. Whether I succeed depends entirely on whether anyone will listen to a wolf with blood on his hands.”
Chapter 11 - Caelan
The question waits for an answer I don’t have.
Patrick sits at the table with the firelight dancing across face that looks nothing like a monster’s. He’s just told me the story of a boy who watched his father die, a young man who lost himself one compromise at a time, and a brother trying to protect someone who doesn’t even know he needs saving. The narrative doesn’t match the villain I’ve been constructing in my head since the moment I woke up married to a Thornridge wolf.
I turn back to the window because looking at him makes it harder to think.
The fog has thickened outside, turning the forest into a gray wall that mirrors the confusion clouding my thoughts. Nothing about this situation is simple. A few days ago, I knew exactly who Patrick Walzak was. He was the enemy who kidnapped me, the wolf who stole my freedom, and the monster wearing a handsome face. Now I’m standing in a cabin listening to him talk about tortured teenagers and misplaced faith and brothers who believe lies because the truth was stolen from them before they were old enough to hold on to it.
I don’t know what to do with any of it.
“You’re quiet,” Patrick says from behind me.
“I’m thinking.”
“Take your time.”
The patience in his voice irritates me more than anger would. I want him to push, to demand something from me so I can push back. Fighting is easier than whatever this feeling is that keeps twisting through my chest. Fighting doesn’t requireme to examine the assumptions I’ve been holding onto like armor.
My sister’s face surfaces in my memory. Sera looked just as lost when she first started unraveling the curse, when everything she’d been taught about Llewelyn strength turned out to be magical imprisonment disguised as cultural identity. She had every reason to walk away from that discovery, to pretend she’d never had those visions and go back to the safe, numb existence the curse provided. Instead, she tore the whole thing down and freed every woman in our pack from chains we didn’t even know we were wearing.
She broke from everything she knew, not because it was easy, but because it was right.
Is Patrick doing the same thing? Walking away from the only family he has left, the only home he remembers, because staying would cost him whatever remains of his conscience?
The comparison feels dangerous. Sera didn’t kidnap anyone. She didn’t force Reeyan into a marriage he didn’t want. In fact, it was pretty much the opposite. Reeyan kept secrets, too. He took Sera to Grayhide territory without explaining why, because he was convinced that protecting her mattered more than respecting her choices. He made decisions for her when she should have been making them for herself. She forgave him for that because she understood his motives even when his methods made her furious.
Could I do the same for Patrick?
The thought makes my stomach turn, though I can’t tell anymore if the feeling comes from anger or something else.
I think about what Sera told me after the curse broke, when I asked her how she knew Reeyan was worth trusting. She said she didn’t know, not at first. She said trust wasn’tsomething that arrived fully formed like a gift from the universe. It was something you built piece by piece, through small moments and difficult conversations, and the willingness to see someone as they actually were instead of who you assumed them to be.
Patrick has given me pieces tonight. Real pieces, not the polished lies I expected from a Thornridge wolf. He told me about watching his father die. He told me about the slow corruption of his own morality. He told me about his brother and his guilt and the breaking point that finally made him question everything he’d been taught to believe.
Those aren’t the confessions of a man trying to manipulate me. They’re the confessions of someone who wants to be seen, truly seen, even if what I see makes me hate him.
“I’m going to check the snares,” Patrick announces.
I hear his chair scrape against the floor as he stands. When I turn from the window, he’s already pulling on his jacket.
“We need to eat,” he adds, “and I’d rather not open another can of beans if there’s fresh meat available.”
He’s giving me room to breathe. I recognize the gesture for what it is, and part of me wants to resent him for being considerate when hostility would be so much simpler to maintain.
“Fine.”
He pauses at the door before looking back at me. “I meant what I said, Caelan. I’m not asking you to forgive me. I just wanted you to understand.”
