10. Aria

10

ARIA

C haos reigned over the world, a maelstrom of fire and darkness that danced to the howling winds carrying the scent of terror. The cries of the desperate clawed at me, each a jagged shard piercing through the cocoon of my slumber. I was submerged in great torrents of water; I stood vulnerable during a merciless deluge. The furious tides stole my breath, threatening to engulf everything in their way.

“In the dance of light and shadow, heed the silent song of the heart. The true path lies where courage and brokenness meet.”

Above the chaotic noise, the words floated like an intricate melody, both foreign and strangely nostalgic. The cadence of it pulsated against my very being, a pressing plea that echoed with a truth I couldn’t ignore, as if it were a prophetic message or a cautionary tale. I couldn’t tell which.

I bolted upright, gasping for air. The unfamiliar walls disoriented me, as did the elongated shadows on the rugged walls from the moonlight seeping in through the shadows. The remnants of the dream clung to me, almost suffocating. I was in Atticus’s bed, in his hidden cave. But even knowing that, the dream’s grip remained strong.

I willed the nightmare to dissipate. I was in no position to be distracted. I couldn’t afford to falter. But the dream lingered on the periphery of my consciousness as I tied my boots with swift, purposeful movements.

Moments later, there was a gentle knock on the door, and Atticus entered. The sleep should have chased some of the shadows away, but now I was more wiped out than when I’d climbed into his bed.

“Ready?” Atticus asked.

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

We walked through to the common area where Hale waited for us.

“The path leads where shadows twist and memories turn to dust. Are you truly prepared to walk it?” Hale asked.

“I don’t have time for games, Hale,” I said. “Seren and I are currently not where we are supposed to be.” I looked across at my best friend’s sleeping form, my voice gentling so as not to wake her. “If my father were to find out we’re here… the repercussions are too distressing to think about.”

Hale’s grin was starting to grate on my nerves, but perhaps realizing I was losing my patience, he provided us with the directions.

“At the human realm, where the four territories meet the horizon, a seer patiently stands. Follow the liquid thread of life that dances and twists, a silver serpent weaving its way upstream. Let the gurgling music be your guide, a melody beckoning you farther. Here, the wind whispers tales of forgotten magic, and the very earth hums with an unseen energy. Where the current stills and the water mirrors the endless sky, the silent sentinels await. The stones, weathered by time, stand tall and proud, their surfaces etched with the stories of the past, safeguarding that which cannot be identified. Do not falter at their ancient gaze. Seek what cannot be seen, for that is where the truth lies.”

“Fantastic.” I pushed my hands through my hair in exasperation. “More riddles on riddles. Why does it always have to be so cryptic and obscure? Just once, I’d appreciate a straight answer.”

Hale raised his hand in defense. “Aria, I swear, I heard there was a seer a while back, so I did my research—you’re never sure what might come in handy, you know? This was the only reference to the seer’s residence I found. I made certain to copy it down.”

Atticus and I carefully studied the directions, analyzing each line until we had them memorized and a good idea of which direction to head in. We ventured out of the den into the soft radiance of a crescent moon that hung low in the sky, accompanied by a symphony of sounds from the nocturnal creatures that resided in the trees and undergrowth.

The night air was cool and damp against my skin, heightening every sense as we moved. Hale’s instructions ran through my head as we set off towards the human realm, where the Silver Claw, Crimson Fang, and unclaimed territories met. Liquid thread of life could only mean water. I wasn’t sure if Hale had made these directions infuriate me or if this was how the seer stayed in the shadows.

“Stay close,” Atticus said, his hand making a fleeting, electrifying connection with mine.

I tried to steady my balance as we maneuvered through the rugged terrain. The forest seemed to watch us, trees whispering words I strained to understand. Eventually, we shifted into our wolf forms, relishing the freedom and agility that came with traveling on four legs for long distances.

I tore through the dense thicket, my paws a blur against the soft forest floor. The world was different in wolf form—it was all impulse, every scent a story, every sound a signal. Though I’d promised myself I’d keep my distance, I couldn’t help but be captivated by Atticus’s elegant movements as he ran beside me. His coat was a beautiful contrast against the lush, emerald-green underbrush.

We stopped at our familiar territory, taking a moment to delight in the cool night breeze that playfully ruffled our fur. With an eerie synchronicity, our bodies reacted to an invisible cue, and with a shudder that rippled through our forms, we shifted back, bones rearranging, skin replacing fur. There we stood, two souls in the wilderness.

“Are we close?” I asked.

“Very.” He scanned the surroundings with a predator’s precision. As instructed, we let the river lead the way. When it disappeared from sight, we relied on the sound of rushing water to navigate our path. The current became stronger and the vegetation became denser, indicating that we were heading farther upstream.

With every step I took, the call of destiny grew louder, pushing me onward.

“Through here.” Atticus pointed to a hidden entrance obscured by overgrown vines.

We followed the trail, the world bending in ways that defied logic. This was a place of immense magic, where the veil between the seen and unseen was gossamer-thin. What had Hale said? The wind whispers tales of forgotten magic, and the very earth hums with an unseen energy.

When we got back, I’d have to apologize to him. When he’d recited the lines, I thought he was being overly dramatic. But now? Now I wasn’t sure what to believe anymore.

“You’re feeling this, right?” I asked.

“Every step,” Atticus said, and the expression on his face could only be described as wondrous. No surprise there, as this was immensely wondrous.

“I thought Hale was bullshitting us with some of those directions,” I admitted, “but I’m starting to think he was understating them.”

Atticus grinned. “Hale occasionally adds flair to situations, but his judgment has always been trustworthy.”

With each step, the sense of urgency grew louder, like a silent symphony reaching its crescendo. We were so close now, so close to answers, to truths, to the very core of the prophecy that had haunted my dreams.

“Almost there,” Atticus said.

I squeezed his hand, grateful for the connection, for the unspoken promise that we would face whatever lay ahead together. Even with the need to maintain distance, I found it impossible to deny the magnetic force pulling our destinies together. Every time we tried to put space between us, the threads of fate became even more entangled, resisting any attempts to untie them.

“Atticus, why did you choose to leave your pack and become a rogue?” I suddenly asked.

He faltered. “Pack life wasn’t for me.”

My wrist was suddenly warm where the bracelet he had given me clung. I glanced down, noting the subtle glow that affirmed his honesty. But his response was lacking, and I could sense the grief in his tone.

There was no deceit in him, and for that reason alone, I didn’t press. He would tell me when the time was right, if there ever was a right time.

“Thank you. For being honest,” I said, internally berating myself for my curiosity about his past. Understanding his true nature wasn’t the most successful strategy to uphold emotional distance. It only made it more challenging to preserve the walls shielding my heart.

“Always,” he said.

I directed my focus to the path that lay ahead. The soft murmurs of leaves and the unmistakable aura of inevitability enveloped me.

Atticus moved with such certainty, slipping through the dense undergrowth as though he was born of the woods themselves.

Hale had been cryptic, mentioning only the currents stilling and standing stones as markers.

Atticus stopped beside a cluster of willow trees. “Here.” He pulled back the branches, unveiling a breathtaking lake that carved a path through the landscape. The still water perfectly mirrored the expanse of the sky. He was fixed on something beyond the water, and I strained to see what had captured his attention.

“What is it? What caught your eye?” I whispered, not wanting to disturb the enchantments that guarded our destination.

He pointed toward a series of tall stones that rose from the earth. They formed a circle, their surfaces carved with runes that pulsed with a subtle light.

“Standing stones,” I said in awe. “Hale was right.”

“He always is.” Atticus’s smirk was practically audible, and I rolled my eyes, though my lips quirked in response.

“Let’s not inflate his ego any further by telling him,” I said as we crossed the stream, each step bringing us closer to the stones and the seer’s hidden abode. A current of energy danced across my skin, a tangible reminder that we were trespassing in a realm that bridged the mundane and the mystical.

Atticus glanced back at me, his eyes asking me if I was ready. I answered with a nod. We passed between the standing stones, stepping into the unknown.

On all sides of us, the forest came alive and exhaled, its magical breath sending vibrant energy pulsating in every direction. It hummed beneath my feet, a thrumming power that seemed to beckon and warn all at once.

The only sounds were the gentle crunch of our footsteps and the faint rustle of leaves dancing above us. Then, as if emerging from the very essence of the forest, a door appeared before us. It was almost invisible against the dense foliage growing along the rock face, crafted to be part of the landscape. Atticus pointed to it, his finger halting just shy of the wood as if touching it might break its spell.

“There,” he said softly, and I instinctively stepped forward, the energy echoing from the very depths of my being captivating me.

My hand hovered by the door, not quite touching it, as intense vibrations of something I couldn’t identify hummed against my skin. The atmosphere was charged with an ancient and majestic magic, its whispers penetrating our souls in a language that transcended words.

Atticus’s presence was a force that both anchored me and unsettled me with its intensity.

“Like the tide calling to the shore,” I said. Damn it all. I was caught between the desire to flee and the need to step forward into whatever fate awaited us beyond that door. I turned to Atticus. Fear flooded my veins, and my adrenaline surged. “What if we find out something that changes everything?”

“Then it changes everything,” he said with a certainty that bolstered my faltering courage.

Taking a deep breath, I reached out, and my fingers brushed the rough texture of the door. A spark of connection jolted through me, a confirmation that we were crossing a threshold into the extraordinary.

The door creaked open, sighing with the knowledge of eons and revealing a realm that defied the simple laws of space I knew.

“Welcome, welcome,” a voice rich with amusement boomed. It had an odd timbre, which suggested that the speaker didn’t use it often.

A man with a wild mane of gray hair emerged from behind a stack of decrepit books. His weathered face was lined with the wisdom of a thousand lifetimes, yet he somehow possessed an ageless quality. His clothes, a bizarre tapestry of textiles and patterns, hung on him like the very embodiment of chaos.

“Ah, the sixth son of a sixth son descended from an oracle,” he proclaimed, a quirky grin playing on his lips as if he was privy to a joke we had yet to comprehend. “That’s me, by the way. You must be the ones tickling the threads of destiny.”

“Tickling?” I repeated, unable to suppress the wry smile that was forming. He had humor, I’d give him that. “I’m pretty sure we’ve been giving them a good yank.”

The seer chuckled, the sound echoing off the cluttered walls. His curious gaze flitted between me and Atticus, penetrating to the depths of my soul. “Took you long enough to arrive. I’ve been waiting for you. In fact, I expected you before now. Time bends oddly around those destined for greatness or catastrophe.”

“Greatness, hopefully,” I muttered as I took in the eclectic array of oddities filling the cave. The shelves were a hoarder’s paradise, spilling over with items whose purposes eluded my wildest guesses. Jars filled with swirling mists and pulsating lights, and substances I couldn’t identify lined the walls. Artifacts that could belong in a museum or a madman’s collection crowded every available surface.

“Is this place real?” Atticus whispered, awe mingling with disbelief.

“Real as the blood coursing through your veins,” I said. Power hummed in the air as tangible as the ground beneath my feet. I reached out, my fingertips grazing the spine of a leather-bound grimoire. Its knowledge seemed to seep into my skin.

“Careful now,” the seer said with a glint in his eye. “Some truths aren’t so easily unlearned.”

“Isn’t truth what we’re here for?” I asked.

“Indeed, indeed,” he said. “But truth is a blade that cuts both ways.”

I swallowed hard. Soon we would know the undeniable reality of our fate.

“We’ve come for guidance,” I said. “We need to understand the prophecy and our part in it. My friend met a spirit on the old battlegrounds, and he told us to seek you out, that you’d help.” My words tumbled out in a jumble, my nerves getting the best of me.

“Yes, yes,” he said. “Your friend. Her abilities have not yet fully manifested. Budded, but not bloomed. Do not worry about Seren. Her future is on the right path. She will rise and become something magnificent.” He peered off into the distance before shaking his head slightly. “Maybe. As for you two, I can guide you, point you in the right direction, but never tell you what to do. To offer direct assistance to fate is fraught with danger, as it would remove free will. The repercussions it may have on the interconnected strands… well, it would yield unforeseen and hazardous consequences.”

The more the seer talked in circles, the more my head throbbed, and I was certain the lower lid of my right eye was twitching. I couldn’t help but worry about Seren’s safety. How did he know her name? I was sure I hadn’t mentioned it.

Before I could ask what he meant, the seer hummed. The sound harmonized with the thrum of magic in the room, filling the space with a vibration that seemed to touch my inner being. He paced in a slow, deliberate circle, weaving an invisible web, drawing threads from the ether that held the hidden knowledge of what was, what is, and what could be.

“Ah, the prophecy,” he said. “A tapestry of fate and time, so many possibilities. You stand at its heart, but the way forward is clouded.” The seer’s eyes, twin pools of infinite wisdom, locked onto mine. “I see two clear paths. One fraught with fear, timidity, conformity, insecurity, and demise; the other abundant with courage, leadership, truth, and prosperity.”

His voice was a caress against my consciousness, a seductive promise of power intertwined with the peril of the unknown. Potential futures pressed in from all sides, a burden both exhilarating and terrifying. The other path, illuminated with the blaze of courage and conviction, beckoned me toward a destiny grander than any I had dared to dream.

Atticus took my hand and interlaced our fingers, reinforcing our bond—a silent pact of mutual respect and understanding. He was my anchor to the here and now. He didn’t speak, but his eyes promised unwavering support.

“Tell us how to choose.” My voice sounded foreign, infused with a strength borrowed from the man beside me. “How do we know which path leads to prosperity?”

The seer’s smile was an enigma unto itself, a curve of lips that held the riddles of the cosmos. “Aria, my dear,” he said, the familiarity of my name on his tongue sending a shiver down my spine, “I have told you I cannot give you direct help. The choice is not one of knowing, but of becoming. You must become the leader you are meant to be, brave enough to face the darkness with a heart ablaze with truth.”

His words were a clarion call, a charge to rise above the whispers of doubt threading through me. With each syllable, a transformation brewed inside me. A metamorphosis from the unsure heir to the alpha my pack needed, the woman I yearned to be.

“Courage.” A vow, a sacred oath from my soul. “We choose courage.”

And in his knowing gaze, I glimpsed a future forged from love, fate, and the indomitable will of a woman reborn in the crucible of her anxiety.

Movement caught my eye, a subtle shifting in the fogginess that drew my attention away from the enigmatic seer. A plump, purple cat with fur that looked like it had seen better days emerged into the dim light. The creature had a patch over one eye, giving it a roguish charm that was almost comical. It carried itself with an air that suggested it was more than aware of its own importance.

“Who’s this?” I asked, smiling down at the cat. It was so cute!

Beside me, Atticus chuckled at the feline, his piercing ice-blue eyes tracking its every move. “Oh, don’t mind Patches,” the seer said. “He’s my eyes and ears when I’m otherwise engaged. Truth be told, I believe he thinks he’s the true seer, while I exist solely to cater to his needs.”

The cat’s single eye scanned us intensely, as if it possessed the ability to see straight through to our souls. There was something about Patches that rang true with me, a sense that, beneath his scruffy appearance, he was privy to information that far surpassed our understanding.

“Is that so?” I said, amused. “Well, maybe Patches can shed some light on our paths since clarity seems to be in short supply.”

“Oh, no,” the seer countered.” Sometimes what we seek is found not in the light, but where we least expect it.”

The plump, purple familiar sauntered toward me with a swagger that contrasted with his scruffy appearance. That one luminescent eye fixed on me.

“Looking for something?” I asked wryly.

In response, the cat leaped onto the table beside me, causing a flurry of papers to drift down to the ground. The seer merely sighed, an indulgent twinkle in his piercing eyes.

“Patches, must you always be the center of attention?” he said, though the dust motes dancing in the air held more weight than the reprimand.

The cat paid him no heed, instead turning his focus to a scroll that had unfurled at the impact. He batted at it with his paws, mimicking the act of reading so convincingly that I had to bite back a peal of laughter. It was a temporary reprieve from the ache of the unknown.

The seer smirked. “He’s been trying to predict the future since he was a kitten. Thinks he’s better at it than I am.”

“Is that right?” I leaned forward with feigned seriousness. “And what does the oracle of felinekind see for us, hm?”

Patches looked up at me, as if waiting for me to applaud his performance. I shook my head, both exasperated and endeared by the ridiculous display. This creature, this tiny sovereign of his own imagined realm, brought a rare smile to my lips.

“Perhaps he sees a path where fire and gloom intertwine, where howling winds carry the cries of the lost and desperate.” I recalled the dream that still haunted me. “Or maybe he just sees the next meal.”

“Both hold equal importance in his world.” The seer started to gather the scattered papers. “But for you, Aria, the path is less certain.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.” My sarcasm was a thin veil over my rising anxiety.

“Patience, my dear. The threads of fate do not unravel at our command,” the seer said.

“Of course.” I closed my eyes for a moment. When I opened them again, Patches was looking at me, his expression almost sympathetic. Perhaps it was merely my own emotions reflected back at me, for what could a cat truly understand of shifter burdens?

“Thank you, Patches,” I said softly, reaching out to scratch behind his ear. “For the distraction, if nothing else.”

The cat purred contentedly, his regal demeanor melting into simple pleasure.

The room was a cocoon of silence, as if holding onto the remnants of enigmatic revelations and the musky scent of books that clung to the walls. The peculiar cat now turned its one eye toward Atticus and mewed loudly.

“Does he always do this?” Atticus asked.

Patches pranced over and scaled the length of Atticus’s arm to perch on his shoulder, wrapping his tail around Atticus’s neck for balance.

The seer huffed and shrugged. “The traitorous little thing only does this when he likes someone. Or when he’s hungry. With Patches, it’s hard to tell the difference.”

Atticus scratched the feline beneath the chin, eliciting a satisfied purr from the creature. There was something disarmingly tender about the sight of a rogue wolf and a one-eyed cat finding camaraderie amid the chaos of prophecies and peril.

“Seems you’ve made a new friend,” I remarked, unable to mask the undercurrent of tension in my words. “Perhaps you should consider negotiating with felines as a side profession.”

Atticus’s deep laughter filled the room, and for an ephemeral instant, it chased away the dread that was slowly consuming me.

“Maybe after all this is over, I’ll retire and become a cat whisperer,” he said.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself.” My words were a feeble attempt to reconstruct the protective walls encircling my heart, which his presence seemed to erode with disconcerting ease.

Patches leaped back onto the table, sending another cascade of scrolls tumbling to the floor. I brought my hand up to my mouth to stifle my giggle.

The seer’s gaze landed on the bracelet adorning my wrist. The stones shimmered subtly in the dim light of the cave. “Ah, a trinket of truth. It will serve you well.” The seer remarked cryptically. I wasn’t sure the man could lie straight in bed, never mind hold a straightforward conversation. Maybe he’d been alone with Patches for too long.

Suddenly, he stilled. His eyes glazed over, and his voice turned distant as if he were somewhere else entirely.

“For the ritual, seek the place where light and shadow intertwine in a mesmerizing dance,” he stated. “There, the eclipse will reveal what is hidden.”

My heart started racing. The spirit Seren had conversed with on the battlegrounds had shared the same obscure message.

“What ritual? How do we perform it?” I demanded.

The seer, with his wild mane and twinkling eyes, seemed unfazed by my growing irritation. “You will need to execute the triskele in the exact spot of which I spoke.”

A triskele. My grandmother, a wise shifter who’d taken on the role of teacher after my mother’s death and before she herself passed, had shared her profound knowledge about triskeles and their symbolic significance. The seer’s unexpected comment triggered a memory of my grandmother and her teachings of the intricate patterns that mirrored the boundless complexity of the universe.

“And we just make this with what? Hopes and dreams?” I asked with growing frustration. The seer was jumping from ritual to triskele without explanation.

“Your sarcasm is noted, but not appreciated,” the seer censured with a quirk of his brow. “You have an ability, a special secret ability that allows you to manipulate one of the fundamental elements, do you not? As does your companion. You will need to use the basis of life.” The seer bobbed his head toward Atticus, who remained silent.

What did he mean by “the basis of life”? My mind scrambled through memories, searching for some hidden intelligence I might possess.

“I think you have everything you need,” the old man said with a slight tilt of his head, as if he were listening to a voice we couldn’t hear. “Yes, yes, I’ve shared all that I can.” He distanced himself from me to delve into the mess of his cluttered shelves, where disorder and pandemonium lay in wait. “More details will be made known when the time is appropriate.”

“What ingredients are in the basis of life? Where do we find them? What’s the purpose of the ritual?” Each question tumbled out with more desperation.

“Patience is a tool that guides us through our trials and tribulations,” he advised me. “The fates are not to be rushed. Events must unfold naturally in their own timing.” Without warning, the seer pivoted on his heel, his amiable face now etched with severity, completely discarding any trace of the bumbling man. “That’s quite enough of that, boy. I may be old, but I’m not an old fool. Do you understand me? You try that unbidden again, and we’ll see how you enjoy the view as a toad, hm?”

Just like that, the seer’s amiable nature reappeared, and he went back to his shelves, transferring scrolls of parchment from one counter to another.

Confused, I gave Atticus a bewildered look. Had he tried probing into the seer’s thoughts?

“What happens if we don’t take part in this ritual?” I tried to corral the panic stampeding through my veins.

“For every action, there is always an outcome, just as there is in this case,” the seer reasoned. “If you choose not to perform the ritual… ah, but why spoil the surprise?” His chuckle grated against my patience, and I fought the urge to scream.

I rolled my eyes. “Surprises are overrated.”

“That may be, but I don’t think you’d appreciate the consequences if you deviate from your role.”

I slammed my fist on the seer’s wooden table, frustration boiling in my veins. “Why can’t you just give me a straight answer?” I demanded, my voice hitching as panic rose inside me. “You aren’t providing any guidance or offering suggestions about where we can gain the knowledge on how to carry out this ritual. But then you say there’s no alternative but to carry out this ritual?”

“There is always a choice,” the seer said, nonchalantly unfurling a scroll of parchment and scrutinizing its contents before rolling it up again. “However, if you wish to fulfill your destiny, silly girl, you’ll perform the ritual. Five days from tomorrow’s dawn, under the shadow of the eclipse.”

“From tomorrow’s dawn… so, six days!” I exclaimed. “You have got to be kidding me. So, let me get this straight. We have to decipher your vague instructions, learn and then execute this ritual, all in the next six days? That is ridiculous!” Pressure built behind my eyes. The headache that had been eased by Patches was now back with a vengeance. An unseen clock ticked away, its sound growing louder and more ominous.

I studied Atticus to see if he was as affected by the seer’s proclamations as I was. Outwardly, he showed no signs of worry or discomfort.

“Why does it have to be us? Why together?” I continued pressing the strange man for answers as my heart beat a rapid tattoo against my ribs. What had caused my pulse to soar when I studied Atticus? Was it worry or something else?

“Open your ears and listen, girly,” the seer said. “I already told you, all will be given to you as you need it. I have nothing more. Off with you.” The seer waved a dismissive hand as if shooing away a pesky insect, not two people burdened with a cryptic prophecy. He didn’t look at us again, and I felt the sting of being dismissed and pushed aside.

“Fine.” My muscles pulled tight with tension. As we turned to leave, the urgency that had been building inside me reached its peak. I strode out, not looking back at the seer or his familiar. Atticus followed me in silence.

The seer’s words lingered as we left the strange cave. A labyrinth of questions raced through me, each one more bewildering than the last.

“Six days,” the number slipped from my mouth again, its echo bouncing off the walls of doubt that closed in on me. “Can I even do this?”

The reality that I would have to choose a path that could either lead to my pack’s salvation or our ultimate demise pressed down on me. My throat constricted, making it difficult to take in air. Panic clawed at my chest, threatening to overwhelm me.

But Atticus was there, his thumb tracing circles on the back of my hand in silent reassurance. His other hand guided mine to rest on his chest over the steady beat of his heart.

Atticus lay his hand over mine. “Look at the bird.” He pointed, and I followed his gesture to a small finch hopping along the ground. “Breathe with me,” he coaxed gently.

Inhaling deeply, I focused on matching my breath to the rhythmic beat of his pulse. Each exhale shed a layer of the fear that clung to me. As my panic receded, I was tethered more firmly to the present, to him.

“Thank you.” My voice trembled, and a single tear betrayed my attempt to stay composed. It was all too much. The ritual, the prophecy, the unknowns that stretched before us.

“Listen to me,” he said. “I am right here with you. Every step, every challenge. You are not alone, Aria.”

His words were a lifeline, pulling me back from the turbulent sea of confusion. The conviction in his tone was the rock I needed to cling to. He wasn’t going anywhere.

“Can I trust you?” I asked. The question was more for myself than for him, a plea for the certainty I so desperately sought.

“Always,” he said with an intensity that went straight to my core.

And then, against all my earlier resolution to keep distance between us, I leaned into him. My lips met his with a hunger born from overwhelming desire. The kiss sealed my fate, binding me to him for the third time.

It was a contradiction, this craving for freedom from my burdens yet yearning for the tether that was Atticus. But as our mouths moved together, I realized that sometimes, the heart sang a silent song that overpowered the howling winds of reason.