The first week at Blackthorn Pack is an exercise in adjustment.
Asher adapts faster than I do, which shouldn't surprise me. Three-year-olds are resilient in ways adults forget how to be. By day three, he's made friends with the children of pack warriors and knows the names of half the kitchen staff who spoil him with cookies.
I, on the other hand, am still figuring out how to exist in a place filled with ghosts.
Every corridor holds memories. The staircase where I once laughed with pack members who later watched my humiliation in silence. The dining hall where I imagined hosting gatherings as Luna. The gardens where Kade and I walked together before everything fell apart.
Being here is like living in a museum dedicated to my own failure.
"You're brooding again." Kieran finds me on the
