The box arrived with no sender.
No courier, no note. Just a plain package resting on the doorstep of Aria’s modest new home. She eyed it cautiously, scenting the air. No threat. No magic. Just something… familiar.
Calla ran to it before Aria could stop her. “It’s for you,” she said confidently, hands already tugging at the twine.
Aria crouched beside her, steadying the lid. Her breath hitched the moment it opened.
Inside: a scarf.
Faded burgundy. Frayed at the edges. Woven with threads of silver and charcoal. She hadn’t seen it in years, but she’d know it anywhere.
Kael’s.
Not his Alpha cloak. Not his council robes. This was his training scarf—the one he’d worn the first time they patrolled together as young warriors. It had been freezing that day. She’d laughed at how dramatic he looked, draping it over his shoulders like royalty.
It still smelled like pine and rain.
And tucked beneath it, folded carefully: a note.
“I thought I’d destroyed everything that mattered. I didn’t. Some things don’t burn, even when you want them to. I don’t deserve forgiveness, but I want you to know… this was never just mine. It was always ours.”
It wasn’t a plea. Not a manipulation. Just a moment of clarity sent across the silence.
Calla looked up. “Did Daddy send that?”
Aria wrapped the scarf around her daughter’s neck. “No,” she said softly. “Kael did.”
They stood there for a long while, the wind tugging at loose ends of wool and memory. Then Calla tugged her hand.
“Can we keep it?”
Aria smiled. “We already did.”
