He really didn't know what to do anymore.
Everything blurred together — his resonance, the Trial, the Academy, Atlas's damned vision. Even the forest itself felt like a fever dream he couldn't wake from.
He felt lost. Hollow.
Mostly, he just felt tired.
Fuck, he thought, dragging a hand through his hair. Iliterally feel like shit.
All he wanted now was something simple — a real bed, a warm meal. Not another cold patch of dirt. Not another half-burnt ration. Just quiet. Just… peace.
He barely noticed his feet moving, or how far ahead the others had gone, until his shoulder slammed into something solid.
"—Ow," he muttered, stumbling back. "What the hell—"
He looked up — and froze.
He'd walked straight into Rowan.
The older boy didn't even flinch. He just blinked down at him, calm and unbothered, the faintest hint of amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth. The fog around them caught the gold in his hazel eyes, and for the first time, Ezra noticed details he'd never really seen before — freckles under the ash, a faint scar under his jaw, the way his shoulders looked carved from tension and exhaustion both.
Rowan tilted his head. "You alive?"
His voice was softer than usual — no orders, no sharp edges. Just that quiet, steady tone that made people listen.
Ezra blinked. "Yeah. I mean— yeah. Just tired."
"You look like it," Rowan said, brushing a hand through his hair. "Haven't slept since the fight, have you?"
Ezra frowned. "You been keeping tabs on my sleep schedule?"
Rowan gave a short laugh — barely a breath. "You snore like you're being strangled, kid. Kinda hard to miss when it's not happening."
Ezra groaned, rubbing his face. "I'm not a kid."
"Sure you're not," Rowan said dryly. "And I'm the Queen of Arkanis."
That earned him a snort. "You sound like an old man."
"Feels like it," Rowan muttered. "Trust me, you don't make it to twenty in this hellhole without feeling eighty."
Something in his voice made Ezra pause — that weary steadiness, the kind that came from someone who'd already seen too much.
He wanted to say something, but all that came out was, "How do you do it?"
"Do what?"
"Act like you've got it together. Like everything's fine." Ezra hesitated. "Because I'm barely holding it together and you're just… walking."
Rowan gave him a long, unreadable look. Then he sighed. "I fake it."
"What?"
"I fake it," Rowan said bluntly. "Every day. If I don't, everyone behind me falls apart."
Ezra stared at him. "That's it? Just fake it?"
"Pretty much." Rowan shrugged. "Not that deep."
Ezra let out a weak laugh. "Wow. That's… depressing."
"Yeah," Rowan said, cracking a small smile. "Welcome to adulthood."
The silence that followed wasn't heavy — just still. The forest pressed around them, gold veins running faint through the dirt. The others were shadows ahead, muted by mist and distance.
Rowan stopped walking, crouching slightly so they were eye level. His tone shifted — lower, steadier. "Whatever Atlas saw — that vision of yours — you're not dying on my watch. None of you are."
Ezra froze. The words hit harder than they should've. No one said things like that in the Trial. Nobody promised anything.
Rowan's gaze softened, not with pity — but with something quieter. "We'll find Asli. We'll find Silas. And we'll get out of this damned place. But you have to stop doing that thing where you try to carry everyone's ghosts at once."
"I don't—"
"You do," Rowan said, simple as fact. "You think you're alone in this, but you're not."
Ezra didn't know what to say. He wanted to believe him — but Atlas's voice still echoed in his skull. You'll die.
The words had started to sound less like prophecy and more like inevitability.
Rowan reached out suddenly, his hand wrapping around Ezra's wrist. Warm. Grounding.
"Hey," he said quietly. "Breathe. Everything's gonna be fine."
Ezra opened his mouth — to argue, to ask, to say you don't know that — but Rowan just smiled, hooking his pinky around Ezra's.
Ezra blinked. "What—what is this?"
"Old superstition," Rowan said, a hint of mischief breaking through the calm. "Wolves keep their promises."
Ezra blinked again. "Wolves?"
And then it hit him — what he'd seen. The claws. The fangs. The way Rowan's body had shifted mid-fight. He'd been so caught up in the chaos he'd buried it. Forgotten. Or maybe his mind refused to process it.
Now it all came back — sharp, too vivid.
"You— you shifted," Ezra said, realization cutting through the fog. "You're—holy shit, you're one of them."
Rowan groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "Wasn't planning on that getting out."
"So it's true," Ezra said, his voice half awe, half disbelief. "Wolves. Lycans. That whole thing—Arkanis and Lycanthos—"
Rowan shot him a look. "You really wanna discuss ancient politics right now?"
"No, I just—" Ezra ran a hand through his hair, words tripping over themselves. "You're telling me the Academy's golden boy is—"
"—a walking diplomatic crisis?" Rowan offered dryly. "Yeah. Don't remind me."
He stood, brushing off his coat. "And no, the Academy doesn't know. Neither does the crown. So keep it that way."
Ezra raised a brow. "You hiding a tail somewhere too?"
"Cute," Rowan said flatly, but there was a hint of amusement in his eyes. "And no. Relax. I don't bite."
Ezra's mouth quirked despite himself. "I mean, statistically—"
"Shut up," Rowan said, but he was grinning now.
"So you're actually from… Lycanthos?" Ezra asked, trying to word his question carefully in case it came off wrong. "How'd you even get to Arkanis? They do background checks, don't they? And your resonance—how do you… wield both?"
Rowan went quiet for a moment before answering, his brows furrowed like he was remembering something he'd rather not.
"When you have someone to protect, you'd risk anything for them. Also, yeah—there was someone I trusted. Someone who saved us." He paused, voice roughening. "As for my resonance and shifting… that's a story for another day."
Ezra nodded slowly, gaze softening. "Still. That's—hell, that's insane."
Rowan gave a small laugh, the kind that sounded like it had lived through too much. "Yeah. You're not the only one with secrets, kid."
Ezra grinned faintly. "Can't wait to tell Silas about this."
Rowan actually laughed at that — a short, rough bark of sound.
Ezra snorted. "You're actually enjoying this."
"Maybe a little," Rowan admitted, shaking his head with a smile.
For a moment, the fog didn't feel so heavy.
Ezra followed him, his pulse still uneven. He couldn't stop thinking about the wolf thing — or the promise — or the quiet certainty in Rowan's voice. Maybe the guy really did know what he was doing.
Or maybe he was just pretending like the rest of them.
Either way, Ezra realized something as they walked — something that sat heavy and strange in his chest.
He trusted him.
He glanced up at the faint glow bleeding through the fog. They were close now. The air buzzed faintly with resonance. The temple waited somewhere beyond the trees.
And somehow, that stupid promise — small and human and real — felt like armor against everything waiting for them.