Page 99 of Wild Thorns

I needed to be gone before that happened.

I hit send.

The suitcase was already by the door. My keys were in my hand. I grabbed my jacket, my laptop bag, and the small box of things I kept meaning to unpack but had never gotten around to.

The response came as I was reaching for the doorknob.

From Jasper: Take whatever time you need. We're not going anywhere.

From Eli: We’ll hold your mail. Drive safe.

Callum didn't text. Of course he didn't.

From Jasper: We'll be here when you get back.

Not if. When.

They weren't trying to stop me. Weren't demanding explanations, making promises, or begging me to stay. They were just... letting me go. But they fully expected I would be back.

If you want to leave, you leave, Callum had said last night, his voice rough with something that might have been pain. We're not going to trap you here. We're not going to make you stay.

Very unlike Marcus. Marcus had made it clear, in a thousand small ways, that leaving wasn't an option. That I belonged to him. That trying to run would only make things worse.

The Voss brothers were telling me I could go, and somehow, impossibly, that made part of me want to stay.

But I couldn't think about that right now. Couldn't let myself feel the weight of what I was walking away from, even temporarily. I had eight hours of driving ahead of me, eight hours of highway, silence, and the endless loop of my own thoughts.

Plenty of time to fall apart.

Plenty of time to put myself back together again.

I opened the door — and froze.

Rowena was on the front porch of the main house.

She sat in one of the old rocking chairs, a steaming mug of coffee cradled in her hands, her silver-streaked hair loose around her shoulders. The sunrise painted her in shades of gold and rose, and she looked utterly peaceful. Utterly human. Like a grandmother enjoying the quiet of early morning, watching the world wake up.

She hadn't seen me yet. Or maybe she had and was giving me the chance to retreat.

I could go back inside. Wait her out. Surely she'd go in eventually, and then I could slip away without…

Without what? Without thanking the woman who had welcomed me into her home, fed me Sunday dinners, and treated me like family from the first moment I'd arrived?

Rowena had shown me nothing but kindness. She'd given me pie and advice and the kind of maternal warmth I'd stopped believing existed outside of Hallmark movies. She'd never asked intrusive questions, never pushed, never made me feel like I owed her anything for the roof over my head.

And I was going to sneak away like a thief in the night? Let her find out I'd just left?

The guilt was a physical thing, heavy in my chest.

I could lie. Could walk over with my suitcase and say I was visiting a friend, nothing serious, back in two weeks. That was technically true. It just wasn't the whole truth.

But Rowena had spent decades raising werewolves. Something told me she'd learned to smell a lie from a mile away.

I stood there, frozen in my doorway, watching her rock gently in the morning light. She took a sip of her coffee. Set it down. Picked it up again.

She knew I was there. I was certain of it now. She was waiting for me to decide what kind of person I wanted to be.

My feet made the decision before my brain caught up.