Rylan stepped quietly into the village, the air still cool from the night. The sun was just beginning to stretch its warm fingers across the horizon, the first rays breaking through the trees. As he walked past the dawn patrol guards—blinking away sleep as they exchanged their duties with the night watchmen—he felt a familiar sense of relief wash over him.

He slipped into his home, grateful for the cozy familiarity of his surroundings. The cottage was warm and inviting, the smell of bread baking wafting through the air. He hung his coat on the rack by the door, his mind still lingering on the events of the night.

As Rylan turned to make his way to the kitchen, a figure emerged from the shadows. His father, tall and imposing, stood in the hallway, arms crossed and brow furrowed. Rylan jolted, surprise flooding through him at the sudden appearance.

“Rylan!” His father's voice was a mixture of concern and authority. “You’re late. I was beginning to wonder where you’d gotten to.”

Rylan took a deep breath, steadying himself. “I… was just out in the forest,” he replied, trying to keep his tone casual. “I lost track of time.”

His father narrowed his eyes, the morning light casting a stern shadow across his face. “You know the rules about roaming after dark. It’s not safe out there.”

“I was careful,” Rylan insisted, feeling a spark of defiance rise within him. “I can handle myself. I’ve been running through those woods since I was a pup.”

“Handling yourself isn’t the issue,” his father retorted, stepping closer, the warmth of the kitchen forgotten. “It’s the dangers you can’t see. You think you’re invincible, but even the strongest wolves can fall prey to those lurking in the shadows.”

Rylan felt a pang of frustration at his father’s words. He understood the gravity of their situation, the threats that loomed beyond the village’s safety, but he also felt a yearning for independence, for his own choices. “I know, Dad. I just… I needed to be out there. It helps clear my mind.”

His father softened slightly, the tension in his shoulders easing just a bit. “I get that, Rylan. But I worry about you. You are not just a wolf; you’re my son. Promise me you’ll be more careful.”

Rylan hesitated, a mix of emotions swirling within him. He didn’t want to dismiss his father’s concern, but he also yearned to assert himself, to prove he was capable. “I promise,” he said finally, though both of them knew the promise was more complicated than it seemed.

The sternness in his father’s expression eased into a weary smile. “Good. Now, why don't you help me in the kitchen? Your mother is going to want breakfast ready for everyone when she wakes up.”

Rylan nodded, grateful for the distraction, and followed his father into the kitchen. The camaraderie that sprang up between them felt like a reprieve, a bridge over the gap that had grown during their earlier conversation.

As they worked side by side, Rylan couldn’t shake the memories of the night before—the beauty of the moonlit pond, the sting of Lucian's rejection, and the small spark of hope that still flickered deep within him. While the morning bustle of the village began to come alive outside, he tucked those thoughts away, focusing instead on the rhythm of breakfast preparations with his father, even as a sense of longing sat quietly in his heart, waiting for the next chance to be voiced.