Ronan woke up to the feeling of something cold pressed against his forehead. His eyes fluttered open, squinting at the dim light filtering into the room. His body felt... weird. Not exactly in pain, but heavy, like he'd been hit by a truck and then wrapped in a weighted blanket for good measure.
"You're finally up," a voice drawled from nearby.
He turned his head slowly, because even that took effort and found Rook sitting on a stool beside the bed, arms crossed, expression unreadable. That wasn't unusual. Rook always had a permanent scowl on standby. But something about the way he was watching Ronan now felt... off.
Ronan groaned and ran a hand over his face. "Why do I feel like I got punched by the entire pack?"
Rook didn't answer immediately. He just tilted his head slightly, studying Ronan like he was waiting for something.
"You don't remember?"
Ronan frowned. "Remember what?"
That was when he noticed Rook's posture go unnaturally still. His fingers tightened slightly around his biceps, a muscle in his jaw ticking.
"Huh," Rook muttered under his breath. "Interesting."
Ronan pushed himself up on his elbows, wincing at how sluggish his limbs felt. "Okay, seriously, what's with the look? Did something happen?"
Rook exhaled slowly through his nose, like he was debating something. Then, after a moment, he leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees. "You passed out."
Ronan blinked. "What?"
"In front of everyone. During training. Then you started coughing up blood. It was a whole thing. Very dramatic. Ten out of ten on the performance scale."
Ronan stared at him, processing. His stomach should've dropped at those words, but instead, he felt... nothing. A blank space where a memory should be.
"You're messing with me."
Rook's expression didn't shift. "Wouldn't waste my time."
Ronan swallowed, suddenly uncomfortable. He searched his brain, trying to piece together something, anything, but it was like his mind hit a wall every time he reached back past waking up just now.
"I... don't remember that."
Rook's fingers drummed once against his arm before he stilled. "Yeah. I figured."
Something about the way he said it made Ronan uneasy.
Before Ronan could question it, the door to the healer's hut creaked open, and his mother stepped in, relief flashing across her face the moment she saw him awake.
"Oh, thank the gods," she murmured, hurrying over. "How do you feel?"
Ronan hesitated, then forced a grin. "Like I got dragged through the woods. Twice."
His mother gave him a look but didn't press. Instead, she smoothed a hand over his hair, her warmth comforting in a way that made his chest tighten just a little.
Rook, however, wasn't done watching him like he was a puzzle missing too many pieces.
.
Ronan woke up to the distinct smell of soup. His stomach grumbled before he even opened his eyes, and when he finally blinked awake, he wasn't surprised to see Rook sitting beside him, arms crossed, one foot tapping against the floor. A bowl of steaming broth sat on the nightstand.
"Eat that before I make you," Rook said flatly, nudging the bowl closer.
Ronan groaned, pushing himself up against the pillows. "You're so aggressive first thing in the morning. Can't a guy wake up in peace?"
Rook raised a brow. "Not when said guy collapsed in front of the entire pack and started vomiting blood. You're lucky I didn't tie you to the bed."
Ronan snorted, but the sound was halfhearted. He reached for the bowl, feeling unusually drained. His body was still sore.
He took a slow sip of the soup, glancing at Rook. "So, uh... did my dad say anything? About what happened?"
Rook didn't answer right away. Instead, he sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. "He said you need to rest. You're on light duty for the next few days. No training, no shifts, no patrols."
Ronan nearly choked on his soup. "What? He actually said that?"
"No, I made it up for fun," Rook deadpanned. "Yes, he said that."
Ronan frowned. His dad never let him slack off. Ever. The man treated his training like the foundation of the entire pack's future. The fact that he was being ordered to rest meant that whatever had happened must've been bad. But if it was that bad, why didn't he remember it?
Rook must've seen the look on his face because he spoke before Ronan could say anything. "Don't overthink it. You probably just pushed yourself too hard. It happens."
Ronan hummed, not convinced but too tired to argue. He finished his soup and got up, stretching out the stiffness in his limbs. Rook watched him closely, like he was waiting for him to fall over again.
"Relax, Mom," Ronan teased. "I'm fine."
"You say that like you weren't half-dead a few hours ago."
Ronan rolled his eyes but let it go. He knew Rook wouldn't budge when he was like this. Instead, he focused on getting dressed and stepping outside for the first time since he passed out.
And that's when he really noticed it.
The shift. The way people looked at him. There was definitely something in their eye, hesitation, concern. Some of them greeted him like normal, but others quickly looked away, murmuring under their breath. Even the usual rowdy warriors seemed oddly subdued when he walked by.
It was weird.
"Okay, what is up with everyone?" Ronan muttered, leaning closer to Rook as they made their way toward the main hall. "Did I grow a second head or something?"
"Maybe they're just surprised you're still walking around," Rook said with a shrug, though his eyes were scanning the area like he was reading the room.
Ronan frowned. He wasn't buying it. But before he could question it further, a familiar voice called out to him.
"You're alive!" Mia, one of the younger warriors, jogged up with a grin that looked just a little too forced. "Good to see you up and about, future Alpha. We were starting to think Rook would keep you locked away forever."
"That's still an option," Rook muttered.
Ronan sighed dramatically. "See? Oppression. This is what I deal with every day."
Mia laughed, but there was something in her eyes.
Yeah. Something was definitely going on.
.
Ronan sat on the edge of his bed, peeling away the bandages covering his wound. He expected to see the usual signs of healing, maybe a bit of soreness, but what greeted him instead made his stomach twist. The skin around the gash was swollen, red, and radiating heat. A sickly scent drifted up, and he hissed as he prodded the inflamed edges.
"Great," he muttered. "Just what I needed."
He knew the pack had healers, but something in him balked at the idea of going to them. Maybe it was pride, maybe it was stubbornness, or maybe it was the gnawing feeling that he didn't want anyone hovering over him any more than they already were. So, he made up his mind, he'd handle this himself.
Grabbing a small satchel, Ronan slipped out of his cabin and into the dense forest surrounding the pack's land. He knew of a few herbs that could help, and if he moved fast, he could be back before anyone noticed he was gone.
Except...he wasn't back before anyone noticed.