Chapter 32 - Between Pressure and Silence
1279 Words
Rowan held her gaze for a moment before looking toward the map hanging on the wall.
“That’s a complicated question.”
“Most important ones are.”
The corner of his mouth lifted slightly.
“I suppose they are.”
Afternoon light spilled through the window, stretching across the floorboards and catching the edges of the maps pinned to the wall. The scent of mint lingered beneath the smell of old paper and ink.
Elara waited.
Rowan didn't strike her as someone who spoke simply to fill silence. When he chose his words, there was usually a reason behind them.
“Some of it isn’t my story to tell.”
Elara folded her arms loosely across her chest.
“I’m not asking for pack secrets.”
Her gaze drifted toward the maps.
“I’m asking about history.”
Rowan remained quiet.
Elara released a breath.
“I’ll eventually find out the full truth, Rowan.”
Her voice remained calm and steady.
“What harm would it do to tell me the parts everyone already knows?”
For several seconds he studied her.
Then he nodded once.
“Fair enough.”
He pushed away from the wall and walked toward the map.
“When we were kids, Valemere wasn’t spoken about the way it is now.”
Elara's eyebrows lifted slightly.
Rowan glanced toward her.
“My father was the main contact with wolves from your territory.”
His gaze returned to the map.
“I remember traders crossing the border during summer. Wagons coming through with supplies. Meetings between pack representatives. Nobody thought much about it because it was normal.”
Elara listened quietly.
That wasn't the version of history she had grown up hearing.
“There were disagreements,” Rowan continued. “Border disputes. Arguments over resources. Every pack has those.”
“But there wasn’t a war.”
“No. There wasn’t.”
The certainty in his voice drew her attention.
“What changed?”
Rowan rubbed a hand across his jaw.
“Something happened between Draco and Hunter.”
Her father's name immediately pulled her focus back to him.
“What?”
He shook his head.
“That’s the problem.”
“You don’t know?”
“Nobody seems to.”
His gaze remained on the map.
“At least nobody our age. Maybe Thorne knows. If he does, he never spoke about it.”
Elara frowned.
“How does something start a war if nobody knows what happened?”
A quiet laugh escaped him.
“If you ever figure that out, let me know.”
The humour faded.
“One disagreement became two. Then patrols started crossing lines they shouldn’t have crossed. Someone retaliated. Then someone retaliated in return.”
His expression tightened.
“By the time either Alpha could have stopped it, neither of them wanted to.”
Elara looked away.
The explanation sounded frustratingly simple, which made it all the more believable.
Wars rarely began with a single moment.
They grew through pride, anger, and the refusal to back down.
“How old were you?”
“Seven when I first remember hearing adults talk about it.”
He rested a hand against the edge of the desk.
“Ten when everyone started acting like it would never end.”
“And Thorne?”
A shadow crossed Rowan’s face, as though the memory had carried him somewhere he would rather leave behind.
“He grew up in the middle of it.”
A sigh left him.
“Hunter made sure every wolf knew exactly where Draegon stood.”
Elara remained silent.
“Valemere was the enemy. That was the lesson.”
His jaw tightened slightly.
“There wasn’t much room for questions.”
The words caught her attention.
“You asked questions?”
A short laugh escaped him.
“We all did.”
The amusement faded quickly.
“Hunter didn’t appreciate them.”
Elara studied him.
The memory clearly carried weight.
“What happened?”
“Usually?”
His mouth twitched.
“We got told to stop asking.”
His expression flattened.
“Sometimes less politely.”
He adjusted one of the files on the desk before continuing.
“Hunter wasn't the sort of wolf you argued with twice.”
That explained more than the words themselves.
Elara found herself trying to imagine Thorne as a boy, younger and still growing into the broad shoulders he carried now, living beneath the shadow of a father who demanded obedience and viewed questions as challenges.
The image felt strange.
Almost impossible.
“He believed it?”
The question slipped out before she could stop it.
Rowan understood immediately who she meant.
“When you hear something every day for years, eventually it becomes part of how you see the world.”
He looked toward her.
“That doesn’t mean you stop thinking for yourself.”
Elara absorbed that quietly.
“But he followed Hunter.”
A faint sigh left Rowan.
“Hunter died before Thorne was ready to take over.”
The answer carried more weight than she expected.
“He was seventeen.”
Rowan glanced toward the window.
“One day he was the Alpha’s son. The next he was responsible for an entire pack.”
His gaze returned to hers.
“He inherited a war, expectations he never asked for, and a pack that already believed there was only one way forward.”
“No one knew what kind of Alpha he was going to become.”
Elara considered that.
“And what happened?”
“Some things changed.”
His attention shifted toward the training grounds outside.
“The training became less extreme.”
“Elaborate.”
A quiet chuckle escaped him.
“Hunter trained warriors like war was scheduled for the following morning.”
Despite herself, Elara smiled.
“That sounds exhausting.”
“It was. Battle drills. Patrol rotations. Combat exercises. Everything revolved around preparing for conflict.”
“And Thorne?”
“He eased some of it.”
The answer came without hesitation.
“The patrol schedules changed. The training changed. The punishments changed.”
His gaze shifted toward her.
“But old lessons have roots.”
Elara followed his gaze toward the window.
War had shaped an entire generation of wolves. Some scars remained long after the wound itself closed.
A thought surfaced.
One she had carried for years.
“There were operations running outside the war.”
Rowan's expression changed immediately.
His eyes settled on hers.
“What kind of operations?”
“The kind nobody talks about.”
“You’re asking about Draven.”
It wasn’t a question.
Elara didn't answer.
She didn't need to.
Rowan already knew.
“What do you know about them?” she asked.
Rowan held her gaze long enough that she already knew she wasn’t going to like the answer.
Then he shook his head.
“That’s where my answers stop.”
Frustration stirred.
“You know something.”
“I know enough to understand you’re asking the wrong person.”
Elara unfolded her arms.
“Maybe.”
Her voice remained calm.
“But I’ll eventually find out the truth.”
Something unreadable crossed Rowan’s expression.
“I believe you.”
“Then what harm would it do to tell me?”
The question lingered between them.
Rowan looked away first.
When he finally spoke, his voice carried a different weight than before.
“If you want answers about that part of the war, you need to ask Thorne.”
Elara looked back toward the maps.
Every road she followed seemed to lead to the same place.
Whether she liked it or not, the next answer waited with the Alpha.
- Writer
