Chapter 25: The Guardian

"A friend of Bonnie's? But I've never seen you before," the middle-aged woman replied, her voice thick with suspicion.

"Ah…" Glen offered his most harmless smile. "My name is Glen, Ma'am. You can ask Bonnie—she should recognize me."

"One moment, please." She closed the door politely.

Glen waited patiently. When the door reopened, it revealed Bonnie herself—the girl who once had a voracious appetite, now noticeably thinner, her usual vitality replaced by a hollow weariness, as if recovering from an illness.

"Mr. Glen?"

"I heard about what happened with you and Layla. I've been worried," Glen said gently, pausing briefly. "May I come in?"

"Mm… yes, please." Bonnie seemed to snap out of a daze, stepping aside.

The modest home was slightly better furnished than others in the district. Glen glanced around discreetly, careful not to linger, then placed the cloth bag he'd been carrying onto the table. His eyes briefly scanned the simple meal laid out there—coarse rye bread and bean stew. Typical fare for a working family, he noted inwardly.

"I'll leave you two to talk," Bonnie's mother said softly. "I need to finish the laundry." She understood the need to give the young people space. Though uneasy leaving her daughter alone with a near-stranger, she clung to the hope this visitor might lift Bonnie's spirits.

"Of course, Ma'am," Glen nodded.

Once alone, Bonnie fidgeted nervously. They'd met only once, and now here she was with a man she barely knew. The awkwardness hung heavy in the air.

"That day must have terrified you," Glen began, breaking the tension. Bonnie's flushed cheeks cooled slightly.

She remained silent, unsure how to respond.

Glen continued, his tone earnest: "I know what happened. And I truly am sorry. Some of the blame… is mine to bear."

"Please don't say that, Mr. Glen!" Bonnie protested, waving her hands. "No one could've predicted any of it."

Glen smiled faintly but didn't argue. Others might not know the truth, but he did. "You've not been well—that's plain to see. Not eating properly?" He gestured toward her gaunt face.

Bonnie lowered her head, cheeks flushed.

"Your mother is deeply worried. I know facing such darkness leaves scars. But shutting yourself away won't heal them." His voice softened, taking on a grandfatherly warmth.

"I know, but…" Bonnie bit her lip, twisting her fingers together.

"Don't be afraid, Bonnie." Glen leaned forward slightly, his gaze steady. "You do have a Guardian watching over you."

Bonnie blinked. "A… Guardian?"

"Yes." Glen held her eyes, his voice low and certain. "Think back. What saved you and Layla that day?"

Guided by his words, Bonnie reluctantly revisited the nightmare: rough hands dragging her away, her futile struggles, the suffocating dread—then the men's sudden, panicked shouts as they released her. What had they seen? What horror made them flee?

If Mr. Glen was right… something frightened them off! "Mr. Glen, you mean—"

"Shh—" Glen silenced her with a finger to his lips, eyes twinkling with secrecy.

"Oh!" Bonnie clapped a hand over her mouth, a spark of excitement cutting through her gloom.

Watching the girl's transformation, Glen felt a surge of satisfaction. Teenagers craved mystery—it made them braver than adults. A tale like this would terrify someone older, but in a world where magic was real, a "Guardian" felt plausible, even thrilling.

"Then… Mr. Glen," Bonnie whispered conspiratorially, fists clenched at her chest, "what is the Guardian?"

Glen glanced theatrically left and right before leaning in. "Truth is… it's a giant dog."

Somewhere, a napping "giant dog" twitched its nose and sneezed explosively…

"A giant dog?" Bonnie's eyes widened.

"Yes. Big as a horse. A hound that punishes the wicked. It was guarding your path that day. When those men threatened you, it appeared. Took one look at it—" Glen grinned wolfishly, "—and they ran like scared rabbits."

"That's… that's…" Bonnie gasped, breathless, struggling for words.

"Pretty cool, right?" Glen supplied.

"Cool?"

"Exactly. Cool."

"Yes! So cool!" Bonnie's face flushed with exhilaration.

Her excited cry drew her mother back. The door flew open. "Bonnie, what's wron—" The woman froze, staring at her daughter's radiant smile.

"Bonnie! You're smiling!" Tears welled instantly. "Oh, I thought I'd never see you smile like that again!" The raw relief in her voice spoke volumes about a mother's love.

"I'm alright now, Mama." Bonnie hurried over, wiping her mother's tears.

"I know… I know…" Her mother gently nudged her back. "Keep talking. Those clothes won't wash themselves." She retreated, closing the door softly behind her.

"She worries so much about me," Bonnie murmured.

"And cries tears of joy because she loves you," Glen said quietly. "That's something to treasure."

Bonnie fell silent, studying him. Does he say that because he has no one? Living alone out there… maybe he lost his family… Compassion softened her gaze.

Noticing the shift, Glen shook his head gently. "Don't overthink it. Just an observation."

Bonnie nodded, unconvinced, but steered the conversation back. "Can I… see it? The Guardian? I mean… I want to thank it properly."

"Of course. It stays near my cabin. Visit, and it'll watch from the shadows. I can call it out for you."

"Really? Wonderful!" Bonnie bounced lightly on her toes.

Grrrrrroooowl…

A loud, unmistakable rumble echoed through the room. Bonnie froze mid-bounce. Crimson spread from her cheeks to the tips of her ears.