Chapter 9 Rowen
ROWEN
It’s been a week, and to everyone’s surprise, Tobias has come downstairs every day.
Sometimes he sits by the tree; sometimes he watches the snow fall outside the windows.
He doesn’t talk much. If someone mentions his mark, he flinches or leaves the room, and he avoids Jericho completely.
But he’s here—and moons above, that means everything.
I want him to trust us, even just a little.
When he told us Rip used blood and magic to create the mark, I nearly lost control. That kind of power is nothing to play with. But what frightens me more is the not knowing. What was the intention behind it? Are they planning to hurt him again? How do we remove it?
Sometimes I catch myself just standing at his door while he sleeps, wishing I could shoulder some of his pain. Thinking about that stage… that bond… or whatever forced them together. I can’t stop turning it over in my mind. I need to understand how he ended up there.
But I can’t do that if he won’t open up.
Every day, my ache for him grows a little stronger. Forest said it best: we thought Tobias was there a few days, like all the other humans they’d taken recently. But months? Three and a half long months of cruelty and abuse?
It’s a miracle he’s not still cowering in that closet.
I used to own a photography business.
Of all the things he’s said, that’s the one that nearly broke me. He’s talked about pain, torture, magic—yet that… that was loss. A life he loved. A version of himself he’s still grieving. I heard it in his voice.
After another restless night, I go downstairs to find Mom. I stifle a yawn and pour myself a cup of coffee before pulling a seat out at the breakfast bar. The scent of cinnamon and sugar fills the air, making me eye the dough she’s kneading with intense longing.
Mom chuckles and tears off a piece, handing it to me.
My heart immediately feels lighter as I chew. “Thanks. Who’s on patrol now?” I ask, glancing out the window.
“Red and Forest.”
I blink. “Uncle Forest is out there?”
He hasn’t gone far from the house in winter in years. Shifting puts pressure on his injured foreleg, and the snow makes it worse. I hate knowing he pushes through pain when he shouldn’t have to.
“He’s staying close,” she says gently. “But yes.”
I huff. “He doesn’t need to go out. We can handle it.”
“He knows. But with everything happening, he wants to feel useful. Your father was the same way.”
Guilt twists low in my gut at the mention of Dad. I came down here to ask her a question, and now I’m not sure if I should. Would she approve? Or will it just reopen an old wound?
“It’s a little early for you to be up, isn’t it?” The knowing look she gives me steadies me.
“Yeah. Um… I wanted to talk to you, actually.”
She keeps working the dough, but her eyes never leave mine.
I swallow. “Do you know where Dad’s old cameras are?”
Her hands pause for a second. “Why?”
“Tobias said something the other day that just… stuck with me. He told me he used to own a photography business.” I exhale, rubbing my thumb along the mug. “I thought maybe if he had a camera again, he might feel more like himself.”
Mom doesn’t speak for a long moment. My chest tightens. Shit. Did I mess this up?
“I know they’re special,” I add quietly. “But I thought maybe they could be used for something good again, you know?”
When I look up, her eyes are shining. She reaches across the counter and covers my hand with hers.
“That’s a wonderful idea, honey.”
“Really? You don’t mind?”
“No. Of course not.” She breathes out, voice softening.
“I don’t know if they’re in good condition anymore, but yes.
He can have them. They’re just collecting dust downstairs with your father’s things.
” She looks far away, then holds a finger up.
“Actually, you know what… Sasha was learning digital photography before she died. Her camera might be closer to what Tobias used. I could try to find it.”
Her voice wavers. The idea of going into Sasha’s room still hurts her. I know it.
“Do you think Taren will be okay with that?” I ask gently.
“I’ll ask,” she says. Then, adds with a faint smile, “But have you seen the way Taren is with Tobias?”
I huff a quiet laugh. “Yeah. Everyone seems to like him.”
“Of course they do. And I’m sure he’ll take good care of them,” she says.
“I know he will. He takes care of everything we’ve given him since he got here.”
She snorts. “More than some of you. He even makes his bed every day.”
I laugh.
It’s been five years since Dad died, yet most days it still feels like last week. I still catch myself looking toward the door, waiting to hear him ask if I want to go for a run. I’d give anything to go for one more.
But thinking about giving his cameras to Tobias… that feels right. Like something that lets him stay with me a little longer. It eases the pain.
Plus, it’ll help Tobias. Give him joy when he desperately needs it.
I hope, anyway.
“Is everyone going tomorrow night?”
Mom hums. “Taren and Evelyn are staying, but otherwise, yes.”
“Is Jericho going?”
She nods. “He wasn’t going to, but Bronson really wanted him there.”
Her hand rests over mine. “You okay?”
My throat tightens. “Yes. No.” I exhale. “It’s kind of a mixed bag, honestly.”
“You and me both.”
When our eyes meet, I can see we’re thinking the same thing, even if neither of us says it: Hopefully this is the last Remembrance for a long, long time.
After finishing my drink, I go to the basement.
The large, poorly lit room doubles as a cold storage room for all of Mom’s canned goods, with large shelving units attached to the walls and forming a center aisle.
Mom usually keeps everything clean and organized in here, with dates and labels on every tote.
So when I get to the back wall where all of Dad’s things are, I’m surprised to find there’s a thick layer of dust on all the boxes.
Mom must not visit this row often.
Not that I can blame her. I haven’t wanted to come down here either.
I slow my pace and read the labels on the sides of each box, trying to guess which one would have the cameras and lenses. The handwriting has been smeared and caked in dirt through the years, so I have to pull several boxes out to peer inside.
There are a few boxes of his old clothes, some of his favorite books, and even his record collection. My heart lifts when I see the labels. Mom used to hate that record player. Said it took up half the living room, but now it sits untouched in the corner. She hasn’t been able to part with it.
I sift through another box, pushing aside folded maps and worn travel brochures from places we visited together. Then I see a familiar red box near the bottom, and I freeze.
I know that box as well as the back of my own hand. I thought it was gone forever.
Kneeling, I run my thumb along a small tear in the corner. That must’ve happened when I threw it into the garbage. It wasn’t there before. I had been so angry back then, so full of grief, that the smallest things sent me spiraling. Even this.
It once meant everything to me.
I lift it carefully. A faint whiff of Dad’s earthy scent rises, and tears sting instantly. My wolf cries out inside me, raw and wounded.
I blow the dust off the lid, revealing the painted forest and sunrise. Mom painted it after I declared this box the “official” storage place for my most important treasure.
Inside, two dozen wooden figurines sit neatly in rows, waiting for six-year-old me to pick them up again. I take one, tracing the delicate carving marks with my fingertip.
Dad used to take me for long walks in the woods, teaching me about pack strategy and what real leadership looked like—encouragement, not domination. He wanted to make sure I could protect Mom and Ivy if anything ever happened to him.
And thank the moon he did. Look at us now.
I hope I make you proud, Dad.
After every walk, he’d carve a new figure. Each one holds a memory. A lesson. Now, they hold a piece of him.
How could I have thrown these away?
They were the most precious things I owned.
“I remember those.”
I jump at my sister’s voice, nearly dropping the box. “Moons above, Ivy. Where did you come from?”
“Sorry.” She lifts her hands in mock surrender. “Mom sent me. Said you’ve been down here a while.”
She crouches beside me, gaze softening at the wooden figurines. “I still have the birds he carved for me. They’re on my bookshelf.”
“I thought I lost these.” My throat tightens. “I… threw them out after he died. I was so angry someone had taken him from us, and it just… hurt seeing them all the time.”
Ivy brushes her hand gently through my hair, like she used to when we were little. “Oh, Ro, yeah. I remember.” Her eyes flick to the stack of records beside me and go huge. “Are those Dad’s vinyls?”
“Yeah.”
“I always wondered where they went!” She’s already flipping through them, her excitement brightening the entire room. “Jazzy Grace? River Upturn? Stop—these need to go upstairs. Like right now!”
“Mom will kill you if you play them.”
“Then I’ll haunt her through the speaker. They don’t deserve to hide down here.” She grins, reading the back of one. “So what are you doing down here, anyway?”
Her question pulls me back to the reason I came. I glance around the shelves. Right. The cameras.
“I was looking for Dad’s cameras.”
Ivy stills, eyes widening. “You were?”
“Yeah.” I swallow. “Tobias said he used to be a photographer. Like… before everything. So I asked Mom if he could use them. She said they were somewhere down here.”
Something warm flickers across Ivy’s face. “That’s… wow. That’s really thoughtful, Ro.”
“Thanks.” I nudge the record box with my foot. “Help me find them, and I’ll haul these up for you.”
She beams. “Deal.”