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Wren gave her a long, quiet look, the kind that only someone who’s seen too much and still chooses kindness can give.

“You want to sit?”

Delilah hesitated, then crossed the room and dropped onto the cushioned bench beside her grandmother’s rocker. The fire crackled between them, casting flickering shadows across the shelves.

“It’s not just him,” she said, voice low. “It’s being back. It’s this place. The forest. The people looking at me like I’m some kind of prophecy wrapped in disappointment. And yeah—Rollo, too. All of it.”

Wren didn’t speak, just sipped her tea.

Delilah kept going.

“When I left, I thought I was doing the right thing. That if I stayed, I’d lose myself in this town, in what everyoneexpectedof me. Especially with him. He looked at me like I was everything—and then like I was too much.”

“He was scared.”

“I know,” Delilah whispered. “And I wasready. I wanted everything. The magic, the mate bond, the future. And he shutdown. Said fate was a cage, said love wasn’t something to be decided by the moon.”

“And now?” Wren asked.

Delilah stared into the flames. “Now I don’t know if I trust it. Any of it. I don’t want to be someone’s second choice because fate tied a knot they couldn’t wiggle out of.”

Wren reached out and took her hand, warm and soft and steady.

“Delilah Moonstone,” she said, “you arenobody’ssecond anything.”

Delilah’s eyes burned, but she blinked it back.

“Fated doesn’t mean forced,” Wren added. “It meansfound. Found in the mess. Found in the middle of a thousand other choices. Fate’s just a road sign, baby—it don’t drive the cart.”

Delilah managed a watery laugh. “That’s… surprisingly wise for someone who once enchanted my shampoo to smell like garlic after I borrowed your boots.”

“You neverjustborrowed my boots. You wore ‘em to a mud ritual.”

“They needed grounding!”

“You needed boundaries.”

They both laughed, and the tension cracked just enough to let warmth in.

Delilah leaned her head against Wren’s shoulder.

“I’m scared,” she said quietly. “Scared of opening that door again. Of getting wrapped up in him and forgetting how to be me.”

“That ain’t love’s fault, sugar. That’s what happens when you give yourself away instead of bringing yourself along.”

Delilah closed her eyes.

“I think I still love him,” she whispered.

Wren nodded slowly. “I think you never stopped. But love only works when both folks show up.”

Delilah nodded, her cheek pressing against the wool of Wren’s shawl.

A long silence passed. The fire popped, and the potion on the counter finally began to glow steady and true.

“You gonna tell him?” Wren asked.

“Not yet.”