Vale Ashryn never imagined that ghosts could walk beside you without saying a word.
But here, in the quiet moments of the new pack's dawn, she felt them—the whispers of what had been taken, the weight of her first pack's betrayals pressing at the edges of her consciousness.
She moved through the camp with practiced grace, filling water skins and checking the nets by the river, but every task felt heavier than it should. Each bark, each laugh, even the soft shuffle of boots on the forest floor reminded her of the pack she had lost, the leadership she had failed to hold, the friends she could no longer trust.
A sharp laugh made her pause. Theron Blackwood had appeared at the edge of the clearing, arms crossed, watching the younger wolves practice hunting drills. He didn't move toward her, didn't command her attention. Yet the pull she felt toward him was unmistakable—quiet, patient, impossible to ignore.
"You're quiet this morning," he said finally, stepping just close enough for her to hear without breaking her personal space.
Vale exhaled slowly, deliberately. "I was thinking."
"About them?"
She didn't need to ask who he meant. Theron's understanding required no explanation. She nodded once.
"They are part of you," he said. "But they don't get to decide what you do next."
The words stung, as if they were both balm and salt. She had spent so long defined by what she lost that it was easier to live under fear than freedom.
"I… I don't know if I can," she whispered. "Let go. Let myself belong."
Theron studied her without judgment. "You will, when you're ready. Until then, you can observe. You can move at your own pace."
She wanted to argue, to insist that she had no pace. That she was broken. But she said nothing. She only felt it—the strange, alien comfort of someone letting her choose.
By afternoon, she found herself at the edge of the forest, watching the younger wolves practice stealth. One of them, Finn, stumbled and laughed nervously. Vale instinctively stepped forward to correct him, hand hovering over his shoulder.
"Patience," Theron said softly from behind her. "Correct, yes. But never for yourself. Only so they can learn."
Vale froze, realizing the subtle lesson: authority didn't have to dominate. Strength didn't have to scare. And the bond she felt with Theron, though unnamed, had a patience she had never known in her life.
As dusk approached, Vale Ashryn stood alone by the river again, feeling the pull of both past and present. Shadows lingered—some memories she couldn't shake—but for the first time, she imagined moving forward without fear.
She didn't look at Theron as he left silently to check the camp, but she felt his presence echo in the quiet, steady reminder that she could choose her path.