Chapter 26: The Proposal I Wasn't Ready For

My final year at Ashvale began with university applications and ended with everyone asking questions I didn’t know how to answer.

Where are you going?

What are you studying?

Will you transfer packs?

Are you and Rowan formally bonding?

Will you become Silvercrest’s Luna?

I became very good at saying:

“I don’t know yet.”

Then Rowan ruined everything by inviting me to dinner.

Not ordinary dinner.

Silvercrest formal dinner.

His entire immediate family.

My parents.

Luna Celeste sent Mom a message saying, *Wear something nice.*

Mom panicked.

I panicked because Mom panicked.

Dad became suspicious.

“Why formal?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did Rowan say anything?”

“No.”

“Did Darius?”

“No.”

Dad narrowed his eyes.

“I don’t trust this.”

“You like Darius.”

“That’s why I don’t trust this.”

We drove to Silvercrest on Saturday.

Rowan met me outside.

He looked nervous.

Immediately, I knew.

Something was happening.

“What did you do?”

“Hello to you too.”

“Rowan.”

“Nothing.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m delaying.”

“That’s worse.”

He took my hand.

“Dinner first?”

I stared at him.

“Fine.”

Dinner was unbearable.

Everyone was too normal.

Alpha Darius discussed weather.

Mom discussed university applications.

Dad watched Rowan.

Luna Celeste kept smiling into her wineglass.

Finally, I put down my fork.

“What is going on?”

Silence.

Rowan closed his eyes.

His mother laughed.

“I told you she’d notice.”

Rowan stood.

My heart slammed against my ribs.

“No.”

Everyone froze.

Rowan blinked.

“No?”

“I don’t know what you’re about to do, but if you’re about to propose marriage in front of both families, no.”

Dad choked.

Mom covered her mouth.

Alpha Darius looked delighted.

Rowan stared at me.

Then, unexpectedly, he started laughing.

I glared.

“This isn’t funny.”

“It is a little.”

“Rowan.”

He came around the table.

“I’m not proposing marriage.”

I narrowed my eyes.

“Then why are you standing?”

“Because what I’m asking is still important.”

He pulled an envelope from his jacket.

Not a ring.

I relaxed slightly.

“What is that?”

“Silvercrest’s leadership council approved a new civilian strategic liaison position.”

I stared.

“What?”

“It’s designed to coordinate emergency planning between Silvercrest, Ironwood, and human regional agencies.”

My mouth opened.

Rowan continued quickly.

“It isn’t yours.”

That stopped me.

“What?”

“It’s an open position. Competitive application.”

I looked around the table.

Alpha Darius nodded.

“No guarantee.”

Luna Celeste added, “And Rowan is formally recused from selection.”

I took the envelope.

Inside was a job-pathway proposal tied to university study.

Internships.

Emergency systems.

Interpack coordination.

It was almost exactly the career I had begun imagining.

My eyes burned.

“You created this for me.”

Rowan’s face tightened.

“No.”

I looked up.

“The council has needed something like this since the avalanche review. Your North Coast work made the gap obvious, but the position exists whether you apply or not.”

“That sounds suspiciously careful.”

“It is.”

He knelt beside my chair.

Not proposing.

Just bringing himself to eye level.

“I wanted to show you because I know everyone keeps acting like your choices are Silvercrest or your career.”

He tapped the document.

“They don’t have to be opposites.”

I stared at him.

“Did you influence the council?”

“I argued the role should exist.”

“Did you argue I should get it?”

“No.”

“Would you tell me if you had?”

“Yes.”

I looked at Alpha Darius.

He nodded.

“He refused to discuss candidates.”

Something inside me softened.

Rowan had used his position.

Not to secure me a place.

To create a fair possibility.

“Thank you.”

He smiled.

“You’re welcome.”

Dad exhaled dramatically.

“So no engagement?”

Rowan went red.

“Daniel,” Mom hissed.

“What? I prepared emotionally.”

Everyone laughed.

The moment passed.

But later, Rowan and I walked to the lake.

Moonlight reflected across the water.

“You said no really fast,” he said.

I winced.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“I embarrassed you.”

“You prevented a proposal I wasn’t making.”

“That somehow feels worse.”

He laughed.

Then his expression became serious.

“If I had been proposing, would the answer be no?”

I stopped walking.

There it was.

The question underneath the joke.

“I’m not ready to marry you.”

Rowan nodded.

No smile.

No anger.

Just a small hurt he didn’t hide.

“Okay.”

My chest tightened.

“I love you.”

“I know.”

“I want a future with you.”

“I know.”

“But I don’t want to decide marriage because everyone thinks resonant mates are inevitable.”

He looked at the lake.

“I understand.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

His voice was quiet.

“But understanding doesn’t mean I wouldn’t have liked a different answer.”

I remembered his words from months ago.

Agreeing with the reasonable answer doesn’t mean I like it.

I stepped closer.

“When did you start thinking about marriage?”

He smiled faintly.

“Probably when my grandmother mailed me ring catalogs.”

I groaned.

“Your family.”

“I threw them away.”

“Good.”

“Then retrieved one.”

I stared.

He laughed.

“I’m seventeen. I’m allowed to be stupid.”

“Barely.”

He took my hand.

“I’m not asking now.”

“Good.”

“But someday, I want to.”

My heart beat faster.

“Someday, I might say yes.”

“Might?”

“Don’t push it.”

He smiled.

“Strategist.”

“Alpha heir.”

We continued walking.

A few days later, I applied for the Silvercrest liaison pathway.

I also applied to North Coast.

And Ironwood Defense Institute.

Three futures.

None guaranteed.

The old me would have tried to predict which choice kept the person I loved closest.

The new me asked a different question.

Which future made me excited to wake up?

My acceptance letters arrived over the next several months.

Ironwood first.

Silvercrest second.

North Coast last.

I got into all three.

Future Aurora, as Rowan had predicted, suffered.

Commander Sloane refused to choose for me.

“Unethical.”

“You give me unsolicited opinions constantly.”

“Not about this.”

Mom said she would support anything.

Dad created a spreadsheet.

Apparently Alpha fathers and ordinary fathers shared one disease.

Rowan said nothing until I asked.

“If I weren’t at Silvercrest, which would you choose?” he asked.

“That’s unfair.”

“It’s useful.”

I thought.

“North Coast.”

He nodded.

“Then go to North Coast.”

My chest hurt.

“You’re telling me to move nine hours away.”

“I’m telling you not to choose Silvercrest because you’re afraid distance will cost us.”

“What if it does?”

His eyes met mine.

“Then we learn something important before marriage.”

That sentence hurt.

It was also exactly why I loved him.

He did not want a yes built from fear.

I accepted North Coast.

When I clicked the button, I cried.

Mom cried.

Dad pretended there was dust.

Rowan called.

“You did it.”

“I did.”

“You happy?”

“Yes.”

“Scared?”

“Terrified.”

“Same.”

We laughed.

The resonance hummed between us across the distance.

That evening, I took the Silvercrest liaison document from my desk.

I wasn’t rejecting it forever.

The pathway allowed applications after university too.

Maybe one day I would work between packs.

Maybe I would live in Silvercrest.

Maybe Rowan would propose.

Maybe I would say yes.

But none of those decisions needed to happen today.

For most of my childhood, I had treated love like a finish line.

Choose Cole.

Become his mate.

Stay in Ironwood.

Forever.

Now I understood that a healthy future could remain unfinished.

Love did not need every answer immediately.

Sometimes the strongest promise two people could make was simpler.

Grow.

Go.

Become.

Then meet each other again with enough freedom to ask whether the answer was still yes.