Chapter 16 We’ll protect her

Ariel After dinner, Atwood had disappeared upstairs with Lulu, their voices drifting faintly through the ceiling, laughter threaded with something lighter than it had been in days. I lingered at the table longer than necessary, turning my fork absently between my fingers, watching the candle flame bend and straighten as if it couldn’t decide what shape it wanted to be. Father noticed. He always did. "Come with me," he said at last, rising from his chair. I followed him into his study, a room that smelled of old wood, leather, and time. I took a breath. "Dad," I said, and the word felt heavier than usual, "I want to ask you something." His smile, “Go on,my son.” "About... werewolves." For a moment, I wondered if he would deflect, laugh it off, give me one of his carefully measured half-truths. Instead, he nodded once. “They’ve never been a legend,” Frey said calmly. “They’ve always been real.” "Then why does everyone treat it like a myth?" I asked. “Because myths are safer than truths,”