Ronan pov
I stood outside her door for the third time in an hour.
Raised my hand to knock. Lowered it. Raised it again.
*Just do it,* Edward urged. *Stop being a coward.*
“I’m not a coward.”
*Then why are we standing in a hallway instead of asking for help?*
Because asking meant admitting I needed her. Meant showing weakness. Meant putting my pride aside and begging my witch mate, the one I’d been treating like a prisoner, to save my mother’s life.
Asking meant acknowledging the bond and recognizing that she mattered.
I knocked before I could change my mind again.
Silence. Then footsteps. The door opened, and there she was.
She looked worse than when I’d interrogated her three days ago. Thinner. Paler. Dark circles under her eyes suggested she wasn’t sleeping.
“What do you want
