Ronan POV
I felt like the same five-year-old boy who’d clung to her skirts in fear as the waves thrashed around our tiny boat. Instead of a boat, I sat stiffly in a simple wooden chair. Instead of her legs, I clutched onto the ceramic mug like it was a lifeline.
Just as they had been then, her eyes were calm and poised. Always.
Never show fear. Never show doubt.
“I take it you heard what happened,” I uttered.
The cabin was unchanged from my childhood, even when she became Matron, she had held onto it. The space was simplistic, non-materialistic, filled with books and herbs more than anything else. It’s probably where I got my lack of decorating skills from. There was a small couch, two chairs at a dining room table where we sat now. The communal area was an open floor plan, like many
