Chapter 162: The Choice Was Mine
{Elira}
~**^**~
Lennon’s head snapped up immediately, a slow grin spreading across his face. "Knew it. I knew you couldn’t resist my charming company or Rennon’s fine taste in sandwiches."
Rennon set his book down and handed the bag forward without a word. His expression was calm, but the faintest tug at his lips told me he had been expecting this.
I took it quickly, murmuring, "Thank you."
Zenon didn’t say a word, but I caught the flick of his eyes toward me, sharp as always. For some reason, that alone made me unwrap the sandwich faster, like I had to prove I wasn’t going to waste it.
Lennon leaned forward, resting his chin on the headrest beside me. "So? Good?"
I took a careful bite. Warm bread, soft cheese, seasoned meat—comfort wrapped in paper. My chest eased just a little. "It’s... good," I admitted, quietly.
"Ha! You hear that, Rennon? She likes your boring pick."
Rennon didn’t even look up from his book. "It’s not boring if it works."
Zenon’s low voice cut in from the driver’s seat, steady and unbothered. "Eat fast. We won’t be stopping until the border."
I pouted slightly but kept eating anyway. Somehow, even with the weight of where we were headed, the back-and-forth between them steadied me, like a rhythm I could hold on to.
Before I could realize how quickly I was eating, the sandwich was half gone. Nerves or hunger—I couldn’t tell anymore.
"You know," Lennon said suddenly, leaning forward again, "if she eats like this during training, she might actually keep up with us."
I glared at him, my cheeks puffed with bread. "I’m not that bad."
"Mm," he hummed, grinning shamelessly. "Tell that to Zenon’s right hook."
Instantly, heat flared up my neck. I turned back to the window, muttering, "That was an ambush."
From behind me, Rennon’s calm voice cut in, smooth as water. "It wasn’t an ambush. You hesitated and Zenon exploited it."
I groaned. "You are supposed to be on my side."
"I am," Rennon said softly, flipping a page in his book. "That’s why I’m telling you the truth."
Lennon let out a bark of laughter. "See, Elira? Even Rennon admits you are slow."
"I am not slow!" I snapped, twisting around in my seat.
Zenon’s voice sliced through, quiet but sharp. "Both of you. Enough."
The air stilled instantly, like a taut string snapping into silence.
I slumped back against my seat, grumbling under my breath. Lennon only leaned back with a smirk, utterly unbothered by his older brother’s glare.
For a moment, only the steady hum of the engine filled the space. Then Rennon spoke again, his tone lighter this time, almost soothing.
"Don’t let it discourage you, Elira. Growth is uncomfortable. It’s meant to be."
I blinked at him, surprised by the softness of it, and for the first time since we left, the knot in my chest loosened just slightly.
Zenon’s eyes flicked toward me again, unreadable, before fixing back on the road. "Finish up quickly," he said simply.
I huffed out a breath, half a laugh, half resignation, and took another bite.
They were impossible—each of them in their own way.
---
The road narrowed as the hours slipped by, fields giving way to clusters of dark pines.
The hum of the engine and the muted rhythm of their voices dulled my thoughts until the silence outside the jeep grew louder than anything inside it.
By the time Zenon slowed, my heart had already started its restless pounding again.
The tyres crunched over gravel as we turned into a narrow lane hemmed in by overgrown hedges.
At the end of it stood a small cottage—modest, weathered, its stone walls streaked with moss. Smoke curled faintly from the chimney, too thin to be welcoming.
I shifted in my seat, pressing my palms together to hide the tremble in them. ’This is it.’
Zenon parked neatly, his movements as precise as always. For a second, none of us moved. The jeep ticked softly as the engine cooled, filling the quiet with an almost unbearable weight.
Lennon was the first to break it. He stretched, the smirk gone from his face now. "Looks like story time’s over."
Rennon shut his book, sliding it carefully into his bag before looking at me. His gaze was steady, calm—like he was reminding me to breathe.
Zenon finally spoke, his voice clipped but low. "Elira."
My throat was tight as I turned to him.
"You are not walking in there alone," he said to me. And right there, something inside me loosened, just enough to nod.
My hand gripped the handle, heart hammering as I stepped out into the cool air.
The cottage loomed closer with every step, its moss-darkened stones and crooked shutters looking more like something out of a story than real life.
My pulse drummed in my ears, each beat louder than the crunch of gravel under our shoes.
Zenon walked ahead with his steady, unshakable stride, while Rennon kept pace beside me, his silence calm yet grounding. Lennon’s hands were shoved in his pockets.
We stopped at the door. For a moment, the world was nothing but the chill air, the smell of damp earth, and the pounding of my heart.
Zenon lifted his hand and knocked once—sharp and deliberate.
A short silence followed. I held my breath. My palms were clammy and my throat was dry.
Then the latch shifted, slow but sure, and the door creaked open.
An elderly woman stood in the frame, her figure slight but upright, her eyes sharp despite the lines etched on her face. The weight in her gaze slid over each of us before resting on me.
For the briefest second, something flickered there—recognition, perhaps. Then her lips pressed into a thin line.
"I’ve been expecting you," she said simply, her voice roughened with age but steady.
My stomach dropped, nerves coiling tighter.
Zenon inclined his head faintly, his voice even. "Then you know why we are here."
The witch’s gaze lingered on me once more before she stepped aside, holding the door open.
"Come in."
---
The air inside the cottage was heavy with the scent of herbs, smoke, and something older I couldn’t name.
Dried bundles of lavender and rosemary dangled from the beams above, and a kettle hissed faintly on the hearth. It should have felt like an old woman’s home. Instead, every breath felt like it pressed against my ribs.
I lowered myself onto the edge of the wooden bench at the table, my palms clammy against the worn grain.
Rennon sat close beside me, quiet and steady, while Lennon sprawled across from us, his energy simmering beneath the surface.
Zenon remained standing near the door, all sharp lines and restraint.
The witch lowered herself into a chair across the table, her weathered hands folding neatly in her lap. Her eyes met mine—dark, sharp, and far too knowing.
"You must be Elira," she said. Her voice was low and calm, yet it seemed to settle into my bones.
I nodded once, my throat too tight to answer properly.
"You know why you are here," she continued, her gaze never wavering. "Your mother brought you to me as a child. She asked me to seal what you carried. I did."
My hands curled against my knees. "I know." My voice came out smaller than I wanted.
The witch studied me for a moment, her eyes flickering faintly, almost as if they were measuring something within me.
"Then you also know this much—those chains cannot be broken by anyone else. Only I can undo them."
A knot pulled tighter in my chest. "So... will you?"
"Not until you understand what you are asking." Her words fell heavily in the small room. "What your mother asked of me was not cruelty. It was fear. And not fear of you being weak, Elira—fear of what you were born carrying. Wolves like you..."
She shook her head faintly, "They burn too brightly. Without discipline, without strength, the fire consumes from within. Your mother believed she was saving your life."
The words pressed against me, heavy and suffocating. I bit my lip. "And if you unseal me now?"
"Then you will no longer be what this world has told you you are. Not an Omega. Not powerless. You will be exactly what your blood demands of you. But with that comes risk." Her eyes darkened as her tone grew heavier.
"Once released, the fire cannot be put back. It will either forge you... or destroy you."
A chill spread through me, sharper than before. "So you are saying if I choose this, I could..." The words stuck in my throat.
"Lose yourself," she finished. "Yes. That is the truth your mother feared. That is why she begged me to silence you before the fire could awaken."
My chest ached, torn between a thousand emotions. Anger. Hurt. And somewhere buried beneath them, something like hope.
The witch’s gaze softened—not kind, but resolute. "That is why it must be you, Elira asking me to do this, not them." Her eyes flicked briefly toward the brothers before returning to me. "Not your mates or your professors."
Silence pressed down on the room. My throat worked as I tried to breathe past it.
"What if I say no?" My voice shook.
"Then the lock remains. You continue as you are, and the fire sleeps forever. You would be safe."
Safe. The word rang bitter on my tongue. Safe meant small. Safe meant mocked. Safe meant chained.
"And if I say yes?" I whispered.
Her eyes met mine, steady and unflinching. "Then you step into the truth of what you are. And nothing will ever be the same again."
I stared at her, my pulse drumming too fast, my thoughts a whirlwind.
The choice was really mine.