CHAPTER 57: A LITTLE LONGER

Chapter 57

Lenora

"You okay, Snowball?" Ronan asks, pulling me into a hug.

"As okay as can be," I whisper, letting myself sink into his familiar warmth, into his scent that’s always reminded me of cinnamon and fresh air.

But I don’t stay long. I stiffen, something tugging at me.

I turn.

And then I see it—my father’s wolf form.

I haven’t seen him like this in years.

I don’t think. I run.

Mid-air, I shift. My bones snap and reform, white fur replacing skin, claws meeting soil. I crash into the massive grey wolf with golden eyes, toppling us both.

We roll, tangle, snap at each other playfully like we used to. A daughter and her father, together again in the forest one last time.

***

Ronan

I sit on the porch.

Right now, everything feels like a countdown. We’re just... waiting.

From the woods, I catch occasional glimpses—flashes of white fur darting between the trees.

The wood beside me creaks and I glance sideways. Simone.

She doesn’t say anything at first. We just sit together in quiet companionship. Then a massive black wolf barrels into the clearing and immediately gets scolded by both the white and grey wolves.

I laugh out loud. Serves him right.

The black wolf turns to glare at me. I flip him off.

He growls. The other two nip at him in reprimand.

I smirk again. "Sore loser."

"You’re so weird," Simone says, watching the exchange like she can’t quite believe it.

"Am I?" I say.

"Yeah," Simone replies, tilting her head at me. "You’re not afraid?"

Her head is wrapped today, a deep maroon fabric folded into clean layers. A thin, golden chain drapes across the crown like a headpiece—like a necklace but for your hair. I don’t know what they’re called, but I do know Simone looks like she was molded from the goddess herself. Regal without trying.

"Of them?" I shrug. "Nah. I mean, sure, they could rip my head off if they wanted. But they won’t. They’re family. And if they do..." I chuckle. "Pretty sure I did something to deserve it."

She laughs lightly, but then her expression softens.

"I look like I’m assimilating well," she says, "but it’s still hard to believe that my boss is an alpha wolf. And I’m hiswitch. Because apparently—"

"Witches and alphas are drawn to each other," we say at the same time.

She sighs. "Yeah, that."

"I wouldn’t know," I say, leaning back against the wood. "But White Stone’s my home. Me and the other random three human families that somehow ended up here."

"About that..." she pauses, curiosity flickering in her eyes.

"Descendants of witches," I answer before she can ask.

"But... I thought Nana never married?"

"She didn’t," I say. "But she had a family way back—before she left the human world and came here. I’m just some distant bloodline she decided to take in out of the kindness of her heart."

The way I say it is final. And she seems to get the message.

"I don’t think Nana’s the settling-down type anyway," Simone says, grinning.

I snicker. "Yeah, you’re right about that. She’d hex someone just for proposing."

We sit in silence for a moment, the kind of quiet that feels reflective rather than awkward.

"It’s odd," Simone murmurs after a while. "This whole being aware of your death thing."

"I think it’s beautiful," I say, my voice low. "You get to say goodbye. Most people don’t get that. Death just... takes. Leaves behind all the unsaid words. Unanswered questions. At least here, in certain cases like these you don’t get to say it all."

"I guess so." She says, standing slowly, brushing invisible dust from her pants.

"I have to go help Nana with the preparations."

"Need my help?" I ask, half-rising, already willing to follow.

She shakes her head, a soft smile playing at her lips. "No. You need to stay. Something about saying goodbye..."

Her words settle over me like a weighted blanket, and I can only nod, watching her walk off toward the house, her long scarf fluttering behind her like a slow-burning candle flame.

The quiet returns.

I sit for a long time on the porch steps, staring out toward the trees. Every so often, I catch a flicker of white through the shadows—Lenora’s wolf darting between trunks, sometimes alone, sometimes at Cameron’s side. Their movements are seamless now. Natural. Like puzzle pieces that had always been meant to fit.

I blink.

Time seems to blur.

Then, from the tree line, a figure stumbles.

Eamon.

He looks older in this moment than he has ever allowed himself to be. His frame is still large, powerful even—but it wavers. His shoulders sag with a kind of finality, his gait uneven.

I’m already moving.

I run to him and duck under his arm just in time to keep him from falling. His body leans heavy against mine, familiar and foreign all at once. The man who once hoisted me up like I weighed nothing now leans on me, and I realize I’ve never hated the passage of time more.

"Ronan—" he begins, voice dry.

"Hungry?" I ask, guiding him carefully toward the house.

"Ronan."

"I think I can whip up something. Lenora left—"

"Ronan," he says firmly, as I help him onto the bed.

I sigh, avoiding his gaze. "Are you pouting?" he asks, amused.

"No," I grumble, very clearly pouting.

He lets out a small laugh. "Heard the whole ’son’ thing, huh?"

"I have three children," he says, still smiling.

"Wouldn’t know. You’ve been too busy with your new son."

"You know only a wolf can—"

"Yeah, yeah. Only a wolf can build the pyre. If Cameron didn’t, Alric would have. You’d haunt us all out of spite."

"Exactly," he says with a chuckle.

A short silence follows.

I sit on the edge of the bed, letting myself breathe him in. His scent, once overwhelming with strength and command, now feels... warmer. Nostalgic.

"I remember, just like yesterday," he begins, and I instantly groan.

"Stop. Don’t. I know where this is going."

"I found a scrawny little grunt hiding alone in the forest," he continues anyway, ignoring my protest. "Big eyes. Tears. Covered in leaves and snot. You looked like a lost feral possum."

"I hate you." I say covering my face.

But the memory creeps back anyway.

It was the early days. Nana was stretched thin, and I was this little human kid tossed into a world full of supernatural predators with too many teeth and too much strength. The other children were wolves, real wolves. Little demons that could crack bone by accident during play. And the few human families here had older kids, who didn’t have time for a boy like me. I was so alone, so lost. Until Eamon found me.

"Can you not bring up my dark past?" I say, fingers still covering my eyes.

He chuckles. "I told you I had a daughter your age, remember? Thought I was doing you a favor introducing you two."

Favor, my ass.

What he introduced me to was a tiny snowball-shaped wolf who charged headfirst into a tree and dented it.

"I remember you’d climb up my body like a cat every time I brought her around," he teases.

"That was self-preservation! You saw what she did! She jumped into your arms and shattered your collarbone."

He throws his head back laughing. "And now that snot-nosed brat’s all grown up. And when I look at you? You grew up just fine too."

He reaches out and takes my hand. His used to swallow mine. Now... not quite. But it’s still warm. Still grounding.

"Do you remember when you came to Thalia and me in the middle of the night—crying, saying something was wrong, because white stuff came outofyour—"

"Aaaahhh!" I cover my ears and scream.

He’s laughing so hard he wheezes.

"Don’t worry, kid," he says through his grin. "Thalia and I are taking that secret to the grave."

I shoot him a glare. "This is supposed to be a farewell, not an exposé of every embarrassing moment of my childhood."

"But it’s my farewell," he says, soft now. "And I want to remember the whole journey."

A beat of silence. Then he squeezes my hand.

"You grew up great, Ronan. I’m proud of you. Don’t think of it as losing a dad... think of it as gaining a brother."

I make a face. "Who? Cameron? Gag."

"Yes," he says, undeterred. "And Lenora’s in his arms now. So it’s time for you to do you."

He gives me a knowing look. "Heard from Lenora about Nana’s apprentice."

"Lenora’s big mouth," I mutter, clicking my tongue.

"Ronan..." he says again, more seriously this time, another gentle squeeze of my hand.

I sigh. "I know."

And I squeeze back, anchoring myself to the only father I’ve ever known, for just a little longer.