bChapter /bb164 /b

Aurora’s POV

I stand there, my fingers loosely inteced with Riley’s, his quiet presence grounding me as the mes consume what was left of my father. The think with the scent of smoke and ash, but it doesn’t choke me it feels almost cleansing, like the end of something long overdue.

bRiley’s /bsmall hand wrapped tightly around mine. He hasn’t said much since we arrived, but I can feel his quiet relief, the weight that has lifted from bhis /byoung shoulders.

Telling him about our father’s death hadn’t been as hard as I’d feared. I thought he’d cry, that he’d be scared or confused. Instead, when I told bhim /bour father had be a star, just like Mom, he looked at me with those wide, knowing eyes of his and asked if that meant he couldn’t hurt us anymore. When b1 /bsaid yes, he just nodded, his expression one of quiet satisfaction. It broke my heart and mended it all at once, seeing him so wise beyond his years.

All along…he had known of my suffering, and he was d that our father could no longer hurt me; hurt us.

Now, as the fire crackles and spits, sending sparks into the smoke darkened sky, I don’t feel anything for the man whose body lies within the pyre. He was never a father to me, never someone bI /bcould run to when I was scared or sad. He was a shadow in our lives, one that loomed toorge and stayed too long. bMy /bmemories of him are sharp edges and cold silences, moments bI /bspent shielding Riley from his wrath or trying to shrink myself so I wouldn’t draw his attention. Watching him burn doesn’t feel like lossb; /bit feels like closure, a chapter bI’ve /bbeen desperate to finish.

Caroline squeezes my hand gently, and I nce at her, grateful for her quiet support. She and the rest of the family–our new family–stand with us, silent witnesses to this ending. They don’t bsay /bmuch, but their presence is enough. Riley shifts beside me, his bgaze /bfixed on the mes. For a moment, I wonder what he’s thinkingb, /bbut I don’t ask. I don’t need to. The bway /bhe stands a little taller, his shoulders bless /btenseb, /btells me everything. For the first btime /bin years, we’re free.

The funeral had been a blur. Faces I barely recognized offered me condolences, their words floating past me like echoes in a bcavern/bb. /bWhen Alpha Camden approached, his voice low and steady, something about the way he looked at me made my defenses falter. He didn’t say much–just ba /bsimple, heartfelt expression of his sorrow–but it felt warmer than anything I’d ever received from my father in my entire life. For a moment, I just stood bthere/bb, /bstaring bat /bhim, unsure how to respond.

My father had never been kind, never looked at me with that kind of quiet understanding. Alpha Camden’s presence bwas /bstrangely groundingb; /ba reminder that kindness wasn’t an illusion, even if I’d rarely experienced it. I thanked him, my voice barely above a whisperb, /band he didn’t linger, giving bme /bthe space b! /bdidn’t realize I needed.

After the ceremony, Caleb found me lingering at the edge of the clearing. Neither of us spoke bas /bwe walked into the woods, the silence between bus /bbas /bnatural as the wind threading through the trees. I appreciated that about Caleb–he never forced me to talk but was always thereb, /ba steady bpresence /bwhen my world felt chaotic. The crunch of leaves underfoot was the only sound until we stopped by the all too familiar lotus pond, and Caleb finally broke the quiet.

“Are you really okay, Aurora?” His voice was careful, concerned, as though he feared his question might shatter me.

I hesitated, staring at the water. “I don’t know if I’m supposed to be,” I admitted. “But I don’t feel anything. Not bgrief/bb, /bnot angerb, /bbjust/bb… /brelief. Does that make me a horrible person?”

Caleb stepped closer, his hand brushing against mine, offeringfort without intruding.

“No,” he said firmly. “Your father was the horrible one, Aurora. He hurt you, over and over again. Feeling relief that it’s bover /bbdoesn’t /bmake you bad–it bmakes /byou human.”

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