The Red Wolf

Calm Before the Storm

I didn’t realize how hard I’d been gripping the hem of my shirt until Ronan gently pried my fingers loose.

“We’re okay,” he said, voice low and steady.

I nodded, though my pulse was still thudding in my ears. The shack—if you could even call it that—was half-swallowed by vines and warped with time. Dust clung to the air, and the floor creaked with every shift of weight. It didn’t feel particularly safe, but Ronan seemed to trust it. So I tried to as well.

He lingered near the door for a while, like he couldn’t stop listening, watching. I settled on an overturned crate and tucked my knees up to my chest, letting the silence settle.

It didn’t last long.

Every creak outside made my spine stiffen. The wind rushing through the trees sounded too much like breath. And then came the sensory flood—again. The dusty wood beneath me felt like splinters. The scent of the forest clung to Ronan’s shirt like smoke. My heartbeat was too loud.

I pressed my hands over my ears, more out of habit than logic. “Everything’s too much again,” I muttered. “Too loud. Too… much.”

Ronan turned, not startled. Just aware. Like he’d been waiting for that.

“You’re alright,” he said, kneeling in front of me. “Try to focus on one thing.”

“Like what?” I asked, somewhere between embarrassed and desperate.

He paused for a second, then added, “The sound of my voice. Just that. Nothing else.”

I stared at him, then exhaled slowly. His voice—it wasn’t fancy or poetic or anything. Just steady. Warm. Grounded. I tried. Really tried. I watched the way his mouth moved when he spoke, tried to match my breathing with his. It helped more than I expected.

Eventually, my shoulders relaxed. The haze lifted, just a little.

“Thanks,” I said, softer than before. “I don’t know what that was.”

He didn’t press. Just nodded once and leaned back against the wall, close enough to feel like a presence but not like pressure.

We stayed that way for a while, quiet.

Outside, the wind changed direction. Then—rain. It started soft, almost gentle. Then louder. The kind of summer storm that smelled like wet bark and distant lightning. Ronan moved away from the door and came to sit closer to me, stretching his legs out and rolling his shoulder like it ached.

I studied him—subtly, I hoped.

He looked less tired in the rain-filtered light. His jaw was sharper than I remembered, his eyes darker, more thoughtful. He was all quiet energy, like something coiled just beneath the surface. He wasn’t beautiful in the way people on magazine covers were, but there was something about him that made it hard to look away for too long.

“What?” he asked, catching me looking.

“Nothing,” I said too fast. “Just trying to figure out how you ended up traveling with the summer people.”

A smile tugged at the edge of his mouth—small, but real. “Fair enough.”

He stretched his legs out farther, like he was settling in for this. “I met one of them when I was a kid. Passed through my town during the season. I tagged along for a few weeks. Never really stopped.”

I tilted my head. “Just like that?”

“There’s more to it,” he said, “but not all of it’s mine to explain.”

The way he said it didn’t feel like a dodge. More like a boundary. He was honest in the quiet sort of way that didn’t ask for anything back. And for some reason, that made me want to tell him something real, too.

“I used to run all the time when I was little,” I said, fiddling with the hem of my jeans. “Stella and Bailey couldn’t keep up. No one really could.”

Ronan looked over, curious. “Still true.”

I snorted. “That’s different. You were practically flying earlier, and I somehow managed to keep up. That’s new.”

He raised an eyebrow. “New?”

“I mean…” I trailed off, suddenly unsure. “Lately everything’s been off. My senses. My balance. My head. It’s like my body’s rewriting the rules without asking me first.”

He nodded, thoughtful again. “And how does that feel?”

I hesitated. “Weird. But not… wrong.”

We sat in the sound of the rain for a while. It hit the roof like a drum, steady and rhythmic. Ronan leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes for a moment. He looked almost peaceful. I wanted to ask what he was thinking, but didn’t want to break the moment.

“Why do you care?” I asked instead, softer.

He opened his eyes again, blinking at me. “About what?”

“About… all of this. Me. Helping.”

A beat passed.

“Because you matter,” he said simply. “And I don’t think anyone should go through this alone.”

My throat tightened unexpectedly.

I looked away. “That’s a dangerous thing to say to someone who’s overwhelmed and trapped in a shack with you.”

He let out a quiet laugh. “I’ll take my chances.”

The rain kept falling, but it didn’t feel heavy anymore. We didn’t need to fill every silence. It was enough to just… be.

For the first time in a long while, I didn’t feel like I was bracing for impact. I felt seen. Safe. Like something solid had clicked into place, even if I didn’t fully understand it.

I didn’t want to say it out loud—not yet—but sitting across from him, listening to the rain and the steadiness of his breath, I realized something simple and strange:

I liked being here. With him.