Chapter 6 The Truth We Owe the Living #2
Cal's mouth twitched. “Please tell me there's not a chosen one prophecy.”
“No prophecy.” I felt some of the tension ease. “Just complicated politics and things that want us dead.”
“Sounds about right.” Cal leaned back in his chair. “So what happens now? We get mind-wiped? Sworn to secrecy? What?”
“Nothing happens,” Evan spoke up from his corner. “You know the truth now. We're trusting you with it. All we ask is you keep it quiet. Don't tell other humans.”
“And if we do?” Cal asked. Not threatening. Just curious.
“Then people die,” I said. “Humans find out about us, they panic. They hunt. They kill. So we stay hidden. And we trust that the people who know will protect that secret.”
“Well that's not ominous.”
“Could be worse,” Mason muttered.
“How?”
“We could be dead.”
I watched them process. Watched them fall back into the familiar banter because that's how they coped, how they survived, how they made sense of things that didn't make sense.
Cal was quiet for a long moment. Then he looked at me. “You sitting there looking like you're waiting for us to bolt or something. Stop.”
I blinked. “What?”
“You were protecting us. I get it. And yeah, it sucks finding out this way, but—” Cal shrugged. “You didn't lie about the shit that matters.”
“What shit?”
“That you give a damn.” Cal gestured at the room. “You didn't have to bring us here. Didn't have to use magic to heal Mason. Could've wiped our memories and sent us home. You didn't. So we matter to you.”
My throat went tight. “You do matter.”
“Then quit apologizing,” Mason said. His voice was quieter now. Serious. “We're not running. We're staying. That's what friends do.”
“Plus the garage has the best coffee in town,” Cal added. “Can't give that up.”
“That's the worst coffee in town,” Mason argued.
“Better than the diner.”
“Everything's better than the diner.”
“Debatable.”
I felt my chest ease watching them bicker. Because they were still them. Still joking. Still finding the absurdity in horror.
“Thank you,” I said. Meant it more than I'd meant anything in a long time.
“Don't thank us yet,” Cal said. “Wait till Mason starts asking invasive questions about magical logistics.”
“I wasn't gonna—”
“You were absolutely gonna.”
“Maybe.” Mason grinned. Then winced. “Ow. Laughing hurts.”
“Then stop being funny,” I said.
“Impossible. It's part of my charm.”
“Debatable,” Cal muttered.
Despite everything, I felt the tension I'd been carrying for days start to ease. Because they knew now. They knew and they were staying and maybe that was worth the risk.
“So,” Mason said after a moment. “Can I pet a werewolf?”
“Absolutely not,” Evan said from the corner.
“What if I ask nice?”
“Still no.”
“What if I'm dying?”
“You're not dying.”
“I could be dying. Medical emergency. Dying wish. Pet the werewolf.”
Cal laughed. “You're an idiot.”
“An idiot who wants to pet a werewolf.”
“Still an idiot.”
“Fair.”
I stood. “Get some rest. Both of you. Tomorrow we'll figure out the next steps.”
“Next steps being what?” Cal asked.
“Figuring out who sent those rogues and making sure they don't send more.”
“Cool. Love that plan. Very reassuring.”
“You want reassuring, you're in the wrong profession.”
“Apparently,” Mason muttered.
I headed for the door. Paused. Looked back at them—these two humans who'd just had their reality shattered and were processing it with terrible jokes and genuine friendship.
“For what it's worth,” I said quietly. “I'm glad you're here.”
“Where else would we be?” Cal asked. “You're stuck with us now.”
“Yeah,” Mason agreed. “You're stuck with us.”
I almost smiled. “Could be worse.”
“Could be dead,” Cal said.
I left them to their bickering before the weight in my chest turned into actual emotion I'd have to deal with.
I found Daniel on the back porch about an hour later.
He was alone, which was rare in a pack house where wolves didn't understand personal space.
Just standing there staring out at the forest that pressed close on all sides, hands wrapped around a mug of coffee that had probably gone cold while he wasn't paying attention.
I almost turned around. Almost left him to whatever he was thinking about. But we needed to talk. Needed to address what happened yesterday and what it meant going forward.
So I stepped outside. Let the door close behind me with a soft click that announced my presence.
Daniel didn't turn. “Gideon.”
“Daniel.” I moved to lean against the railing. Gave him space. Didn't crowd. “Got a minute?”
“Yeah.” He took a sip of the cold coffee. Made a face. “How are they?”
“Cal and Mason? Processing. Making terrible jokes about it. Staying.” I watched his profile, tried to read whether he was pissed I'd brought humans deeper into pack business. “They're tougher than they look.”
“Good.” Daniel was quiet for a moment.
My throat tightened. Coming from Daniel, those words felt like progress I hadn't earned yet.
“Thank you,” I said quietly.
“Don't.” Daniel finally looked at me. Exhaustion was written in every line of his face. “Don't thank me for doing the bare minimum.”
Fair point.
“The Omega Rogues,” I said. “Someone built them specifically to kill.”
Daniel's jaw tightened. “Silas.”
“Has to be.” I felt the cold certainty settling in my gut. “He's the only one with the skill and the motivation. And these rogues had his fingerprints all over them—the way they adapted under assault, the coordination. It's his technique.”
“Still making monsters.” Daniel's voice was flat.
“And getting better at it.” I watched the forest, half-expecting shadows to materialize between the trees. “These were stronger than anything he made before. More coordinated. More resilient. He's had time to refine his work since he ate Rafe's heart and got the Omega Alpha power.”
Daniel turned to face me fully now. “You think he's coming for the town?”
“I think he's testing us. Seeing what we can handle. Yesterday was a probe, not a full assault.” I met his eyes. “And I'm sorry. I should've reinforced those wards stronger. Should've seen this coming. Cal and Mason got hurt because I—”
“Stop.” Daniel's voice cut through my guilt. “You didn't send those rogues. You didn't build them. You fought them off and kept two humans alive when they should've died. Don't apologize for your father's actions.”
I wanted to argue. Wanted to point out that I'd spent years helping Silas, that the curse tearing my soul apart was his parting gift, that every spell I cast was killing me because of what he'd done.
But Daniel was trying. Trying to separate me from my father, trying to rebuild trust one conversation at a time, and arguing would just undo whatever progress we'd made.
So I just nodded. “Okay.”
Daniel studied me for a moment. Then his shoulders eased slightly. “The wards you put up—can you reinforce them?”
“Yeah. I'll need to pull from the ley lines again, but I can layer them deeper. Make them harder to breach.”
We stood in the tense silence. The forest sounds were filling the space—birds calling, wind moving through the branches, the distant sound of pack members settling in for the night.
Daniel took a breath. Let it out slow. When he spoke again, his voice had shifted—less Alpha, more just tired. “How's Ronan doing?”
The subject change was deliberate. Safer territory than arguing about whether I was allowed to kill myself protecting people.
“Better than I expected,” I said honestly. “He showed up at the garage last week for regular maintenance. Talked to Evan about transmission work for twenty minutes like it was completely normal. Cal even got him to laugh.”
Daniel's expression shifted. Relief was bleeding through the exhaustion. “He laughed?”
“Rough and surprised, like he'd forgotten how. But yeah.” I remembered the moment—Ronan's face cracking into this unexpected grin while Cal told some terrible story about a customer. “Mason nearly fell off his stool.”
“That's good.” Daniel's voice went quieter. “That's—I keep waiting for him to bolt. Every morning I wake up expecting him to be gone again.”
“He's not going anywhere.” I said it with more confidence than I felt.
Daniel stared into his coffee. “Just hard to trust it after thirty years of nothing.”
Fair. Completely fair. I'd only known about Ronan being back for a month and even I was still calibrating my expectations around someone who'd been dead and then suddenly wasn't.
“Get some rest, Gideon,” Daniel said. “Tomorrow's gonna be hell regardless of whether Silas sends more rogues or we just have to survive normal pack politics.”
“Yeah.” I pushed off the railing. Started toward the door. Paused. “Daniel?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks. For giving me a chance. I know I don't deserve it yet.”
“You're earning it. Keep going.”
It wasn't forgiveness. Wasn't absolution. But it was an acknowledgment that maybe I could build back what my father had burned down.
I'd take it.