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There was one more thing she had to do before she disappeared into the woods to save everything she loved.

Rollo was at the sanctuary, feeding the phoenix pup with one hand and rubbing his side absently with the other. His movements were slower now, that same haunted weariness back in his shoulders—more weight than he’d carried since she’d returned.

When he turned and saw her, his whole face shifted—softened, opened.

He set the feed bowl down. “Hey?—”

“We need to talk,” she said, voice too even.

Delilah stepped in slowly, carefully, like she already knew he’d break from whatever she was about to say.

“Something’s changing,” she said quietly. “In the forest. Inme.You can feel it too, I know you can.”

“I do,” he said, gaze steady. “But we can face it together.”

She shook her head. “That’s just it. We can’t.”

He moved closer. “Delilah, no. Don’t do this.”

“I have to,” she whispered. “I’m not doing this because I don’t love you. I’m doing it because I do. Because if I stay—if we stay like this—you’ll keep trying to carry me. Shield me. And one day, I won’t be fast enough to stop the blow meant for me.”

He reached out, fingers just brushing hers. “Don’t ask me to stand still while you walk into something alone.”

Tears threatened, but she held firm.

“I need to do this,” she said, voice thick. “Not just for Wren. Or for the town. But forme.I have to know what I am without the bond telling me. And you have to live without breaking every time I stumble.”

A beat of silence passed. A long, painful beat.

“I love you, Rollo Steele,” she said, finally letting the tears fall. “But we need to end this. For now.”

He didn’t fight her. Just looked at her like the ground had slipped out beneath his feet.

She kissed his cheek, slow and lingering.

“Stay safe, bear,” she murmured. Then she turned and walked into the forest, alone.

34

ROLLO

Rollo hadn’t moved.

Not when the sanctuary door clicked shut behind her. Not when her scent had faded into the woods. Not when the pain cracked something ancient and unmended inside his chest.

He stood there, dumbstruck, one hand still lifted like he might catch the ghost of her goodbye.

“She really went,” he said aloud, though no one answered.

The phoenix pup chirped once from the straw basket, and that somehow made it worse.

He dropped to the bench like a felled tree, elbows on his knees, chest heaving.

“I let her walk away.”

But even as the words left his mouth, his bear stirred.

No. She walked because she thought it was the only way to protect him. To protecteverything.