The Red Wolf

Quiet Shelter

The rain hadn’t stopped. It just kept tapping steadily against the roof, a soft and constant hush that filled the silence between us. The shack smelled like old wood, wet earth, and something vaguely metallic, like rust clinging to the corners. I sat near the back wall, knees drawn up, arms loosely looped around them, listening to Ronan move quietly near the door.

He was just a dark outline in the light from the narrow window, arms crossed over his chest, gaze fixed on the woods beyond the clearing. I watched him for a while, long enough that my eyes adjusted to every angle—his broad shoulders, the loose strands of hair that had escaped the tie at the nape of his neck, the tension in the way he stood. He was still alert, but not rigid. Protective, not paranoid.

My head ached. Not just a normal headache—a migraine pulsing right behind my eyes, sharp and relentless. It wasn’t just the running or the adrenaline crash. Everything was too much. The rain, the creaking wood, even the smell of wet bark outside felt like it was digging into my brain. I rubbed my temples.

Ronan turned, his expression softening. “Headache?”

I nodded, “It’s like… I can’t block anything out. My head feels like it’s going to split open.”

He didn’t answer right away, just crossed the room and crouched in front of me. “Close your eyes.”

I hesitated but did what he said. He sat down beside me, his back against the same wall. For a while, neither of us said anything. It wasn’t awkward. Just… still.

“You always this quiet?” I asked after a moment, opening my eyes.

He glanced over, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Depends who I’m with.”

“You don’t talk much about yourself.”

“I talk,” he said. “Just… not everything’s mine to give away.”

I blinked. “What does that even mean?”

He shrugged. “Some stories don’t belong to just me. I met the others during a summer I wasn’t supposed to stay long for. They sort of pulled me in.”

“The people who stay at my gran’s?” I asked.

He nodded. “Yeah.”

“What made you stay?”

He tilted his head. “They felt like home.”

I let that sit for a second. “You’re not gonna tell me why they travel all the time, are you?”

He smiled again. “Not my story.”

“Right,” I said, nudging his boot with mine. “Cryptic.”

“I warned you,” he said lightly.

Despite the headache still lingering in the back of my skull, I found myself smiling. Just a little.

The rain picked up again, heavier against the roof, and Ronan stood to check outside. Then he shut the door and leaned back against it with a sigh. “We should stay here until it lets up. Safer that way.”

I didn’t argue. I didn’t want to leave either. Not yet.

After a few more minutes, he returned to the spot beside me, this time sitting closer than before. Not touching, but close enough that I could feel the warmth from his arm. My migraine started to slip away, and with it came a heavy, bone-deep tiredness.

I shifted, resting my head back against the wall, eyes drifting closed. “You’re good at distracting people, you know.”

“Part of my charm,” he said.

The next time I opened my eyes, it was dimmer in the shack. Late afternoon had slipped into evening, and the rain had finally stopped. My head was resting against Ronan’s shoulder, and his was tipped gently against mine. His breathing was even, slow. He was asleep.

I should have moved, but I didn’t. It was the most peace I’d felt in days—weeks, maybe. There was a strange comfort in the stillness, in the weight of him beside me and the warmth of shared space. I let my eyes drift shut again, listening to nothing but the quiet. No sharpness. No overload.

Footsteps outside made my eyes snap open again.

The door creaked, and I barely managed to stay still as it opened slowly. Damien stepped inside first, tall and broad-shouldered, his voice low and careful.

“Well, that explains why he wasn’t answering,” he murmured with a grin.

Two others followed—one of them I vaguely recognized from previous summers. They didn’t speak, just smiled faintly at the sight of us. Damien stepped forward and gently nudged Ronan’s boot with his own.

Ronan stirred, then blinked awake, looking down at me. For a split second, his expression softened even more—but then he remembered they weren’t alone.

“She’s still asleep,” Damien said, grinning.

Ronan didn’t correct him. “Guess we both were.”

“We’ve been looking for you,” Damien added. “Storm’s passed. Time to head back.”

Ronan nodded and stood slowly. Then, with more care than I expected, he leaned down and lifted me into his arms. I kept my eyes shut, not ready to deal with the awkwardness of waking up just yet. He didn’t seem to mind.

Outside, the woods were damp and glowing gold through the trees. The others walked ahead, quiet and unhurried. Ronan lingered behind them, moving slower.

“You’re awake,” he said softly.

I cracked one eye open. “How’d you know?”

“You were out for a while,” he said. “Breathing changed. You stopped pretending.”

I groaned. “Am I that obvious?”

“Not to everyone,” he said. “But I notice things.”

He didn’t say it with pride or arrogance—just certainty. And I believed him.

I didn’t ask to be put down, and he didn’t offer. We just moved quietly through the woods, the fading light casting long shadows, the scent of rain still clinging to the air.

And for the first time in a long while, I didn’t feel like I had to keep looking over my shoulder.