Chapter 144

Emily

The ocean breathes like it’s alive. Inhale. Exhale. A constant, steady rhythm that doesn’t care if the world is falling apart. I sit on the sand with my knees pulled to my chest — well, more like to my baby bump — and my toes dig into the warm sand. I stare at the horizon like it holds the answers to calm the uneasiness that sits in my heart.

Logan’s gone into town to grab groceries. Just a quick trip, he said as he walked out the door. I know he’ll be back soon with that stupid smile he always wears when he finds something he knows I’ll love, like fresh strawberries or those honey-glazed almonds he pretends he only bought for himself.

I should be thinking about dinner. About tonight, one of our last nights at the beach. I should be thinking about the quiet life we’re trying to live in present, the one that is far away from the city where the rest of our lives wait for us.

My mind has other plans, though, and I’m still thinking about Madame Wanda and those damned words she spoke to me under the veil of darkness. Her voice is etched into my brain, the raspiness in her voice forever haunting me no matter what it is that I do during the day.

At least the sea provides me with some solace and comfort away from the witch’s memory.

Last night replays on a loop inside of my head. I replay the encounter like it is a memory that refuses to fade. Honestly, it doesn’t feel like a memory. It feels as if it’s still happening. As if the witch is still in the room with me, whispering truths I never asked for.

“You must be ready,” she said. “This path — the one ahead — it’s not easy. It is the road less traveled, and there is a reason few walk it.”

Her voice was low. Not threatening. Just certain. Ancient, even. She spoke as if I was a part of some prophecy that is much bigger than me. Like I am just another cog in the machine of life that is ready to spit me out as soon as I deny what it wants.

She looked at me like she knew. Not just about my wolf, or my father, or the baby — but about me. The me I’ve tried to hide, even from Logan…especially from Logan.

Before we left, Madame Wanda slipped the note into my hand. A small piece of paper. Folded neatly. No fanfare. Just a name and an address printed on a piece of light blue and gold paper.

It had an address on it, one that I can head to when I decide to take the step. An address on where to find her when I’m ready. Not if but when.

I unfold the note again, tracing the letters like they might rewrite themselves into something else. Something easier. Something safe. It is all one big hope of mine, though. Something to keep away the insecure thoughts while I play with the grains of sand on the beach.

I want to crumple the piece of paper. To destroy it and burn it into mere ashes that will fly away with the wind. I want to throw it into the ocean, watch the tide drag it under until it’s gone, like maybe then all of this will go with it.

Instead, I hold it tighter. I bring it to the space over my heart, keeping it as close to my body as possible. I close my eyes. The beach’s breeze is cold against my skin and the sky is no longer blue but gray.

A part of me is terrified. A single sliver of fear that I haven’t felt in so long is now awake. The animal inside of me, the creature that has been asleep for so long, will not let me push the memory away. She brings it to the forefront of my mind, forcing me to reconcile with the truth of my childhood before my mother passed.

My wolf. She’s stirring again. Not with panic this time, not with fear…but with purpose.

She knows that this next step is important. That this is the key — no, the opportunity that I have been waiting for so long to show up.

“You must accept the challenge,” Wanda said. “Not just for yourself. For your child. They must succeed where you didn’t.”

That part hit harder than the rest. Not because of the warning but rather because her words held the truth in it.

There are things I didn’t do. Things I ran from. Pain I buried so deep I convinced myself it wasn’t real, that it was all just a dream.

But now? Now, I’m carrying a life inside me. An extension of myself that will be responsibility to love and protect. I know I can’t hide anymore. I can’t let my child inherit my fear.

Still... I don’t know how to talk to Logan about this. He’s been patient. Gentle. Protective in all the ways that matter. But this? This is different. This path Wanda’s pointing me toward…I don’t know what’s at the end of it. I don’t even know what I’m agreeing to yet. All I know is that it won’t be easy. It might break me before it heals me.

Logan would try to stop it. Not because he doesn’t believe in me but because he would rather bleed himself, to herald the pain of my anguish and agony, if it means that a single tear will not roll down my face.

I look down at the note and sigh. Maybe I’m selfish for not telling him. Maybe I’m stupid for even considering going back to Wanda on my own. But there’s something in me that says this is mine to do.

Not his. Not ours. Mine.

I press the note to my lips, then tuck it into my mother’s journal that I’ve been pretending to write in every morning. Logan hasn’t asked to read it. He wouldn’t. But if he ever does... I think I’d let him. Eventually.

“Emily?”

His voice carries across the beach, cutting through my thoughts like sunlight through fog.

I turn my head to see him walking toward me, brown paper bags in his arms, wind tugging at his shirt. His smile is soft, but his eyes are already scanning my face. He can always tell when I’ve gone somewhere dark in my head.

“Hey,” I say, trying to sound normal as I slowly stand up and brush the sand off my dress. “That was fast.”

“Town was quiet,” he says, setting the bags of groceries down on the picnic table nearby. “Got everything we need for dinner and then some.” He pulls out a jar of honey almonds and I can’t help but laugh.

“You’re predictable,” I tease.

“And you love it,” he pulls me close to his side and presses a gentle kiss to my temple. I smile, but it doesn’t quite reach my eyes. Not yet. He steps closer, brushing hair from my cheek. “You okay?” he asks softly.

I want to say yes. Instead, I reach up and place my hand over his.

“I’m trying to be,” I bring our hands down to my swollen belly, our child ready to come into the world any day now. The solace and comfort of our near future. That’s all I can offer right now.

He doesn’t push. He just pulls me into his chest and holds me there, like he knows I’ll come back to him when I’m ready. And I will.

No matter where this road leads — no matter how much of it I have to walk alone or with Logan by my side— I know one thing: when it ends, Logan will be waiting.