Aria’s POV

The constant tension, the alert vigilance that came with being hunted and hunting in return, all quieted. My wolf lowered her head, no longer pacing.

After we got out of the car, I walked slowly into the cemetery, my steps unhurried.

I stopped in front of one headstone. It was Grandma’s.

I crouched down, barely aware of Amelia and Logan behind me. At that moment, they might as well not have existed. 𝙧𝙚𝙚𝔀𝒆𝓫𝓷𝙤𝓿𝒆𝙡.𝒄𝙤𝓶

I brushed my fingers over the cold stone.

"Grandma," I whispered. "I came to see you."

My voice was so soft even the wind seemed to lean in to listen. The sky was overcast, clouds pressing low, the air cool and heavy. The cemetery carried its usual quiet loneliness, but there was no fear here, no darkness, only rest.

Even Logan, usually all restless energy and sharp edges, stood silently a short distance away, watching me with open concern. His wolf, playful and unruly, stayed strangely subdued.

Amelia knelt beside me and placed a bouquet of white flowers at the base of the headstone.

"Mrs. Osborne," she said respectfully, "please excuse the intrusion."

The flowers were fresh. I could smell the faint trace of water still clinging to the petals, sprayed on by the florist that morning.

Amelia only knew one thing about my grandmother, her surname.

Logan bent forward in a deep, formal bow, the kind only old families still remembered. He carefully set a white patterned gift box beside Amelia’s bouquet.

"Mrs. Kate Osborne," he said softly. "It’s been a long time."

My wolf stiffened.

I turned sharply, my heart thudding. "What did you just call her?" I locked eyes with him, my gaze sharp enough to draw blood if he’d been lying.

I had never spoken my grandmother’s name aloud to anyone here. Not even Amelia knew it.

And that phrase...it’s been a long time...rang strangely in my ears, it almost felt as though he knew her on a personal level. Was he... speaking for someone else?

Logan didn’t flinch. He met my stare steadily, his voice calm, gentle, carrying no scent of deception.

"Mrs. Kate Osborne was my grandfather’s first love."

For a heartbeat, the world went silent. My eyes widened, my wolf pausing mid-breath.

Logan shrugged lightly when he saw my reaction. "They met when they were young," he continued. "But misunderstandings tore them apart. All these years, my grandfather never stopped thinking about her. He wrote letters, so many letters, but with an ocean between them, none were ever answered."

My chest tightened.

"Before he passed," Logan went on quietly, "he asked me to come to Duckspire, to find her."

Amelia glanced between us, confusion flickering across her face. I could tell what she was thinking, I was thinking the same thing. If his grandfather had loved my grandmother so deeply, then where did Logan’s own grandmother fit into all this? Why did he get married to another woman and not my grandmother.

Logan caught the look and smiled faintly, as if he’d already anticipated the question.

"When my grandfather and Ms. Osborne separated," he said calmly, "my grandmother played a role in it. Our family paid the price for that mistake for decades. I’m not here for blood ties. I’m here to fulfill a dying wish."

Amelia nodded slowly. She still had questions, I could smell them on her, but she wisely kept them to herself.

The three of us fell silent, our attention drawn back to the headstone.

I lit a stick of incense, the smoke curling upward in pale spirals. My wolf lowered her head in reverence.

"Grandma," I murmured, "I’ll come see you again."

The words settled into the earth like a promise.

We left the cemetery together and soon arrived at the old house near its edge.

"Didn’t you say you wanted to see where my grandma used to live?" I asked quietly, my voice softer than usual.

I pointed ahead. "It’s here."

Amelia shot me a concerned look but followed without comment.

The moment we stepped inside the yard, my heart clenched as very old memories surfaced.

I turned toward the pond nearby. Its surface was scattered with petals, pale and fragile.

They were from the flowers my grandmother had once tended with such care. After she passed, with no one to look after them, they should have withered long ago.

My eyes trembled as I walked toward the house.

When I pushed the door open, stale air rushed out to greet us.

We all unconsciously softened our steps as we crossed the creaking wooden floor.

"What did you come here to do aside seeing my grandmother’s grave?" I asked Logan suddenly. "What are you looking for?"

I lifted my gaze to meet his.

Something flickered in Logan’s face. He shook his head. "I’m only here to fulfill my grandfather’s wish. I’m not looking for anything in particular."

I frowned but didn’t press further, turning away.

That was when Amelia froze.

She moved straight toward one corner of the room, her steps purposeful.

I followed, puzzled, and we stopped before an old wooden table. A simple desk, worn smooth with time, covered by a glass panel.

Photographs lay beneath it, dozens of them.

All of me as a child.

I stared at them, my breath catching.

In every picture, I looked quiet and reserved. Even when I smiled, it was restrained, just a gentle curve of the lips, calm beyond my years.

Logan stood beside us, his gaze fixed on the photos, his breath shallow. He reached into his coat and produced a small, round urn.

"These are my grandfather’s ashes," he said solemnly. "When he left our pack in Veridale and came to Duckspire years ago, he fell in love with this land. May I bury him in the soil of this yard?"