The designer's studio was tucked into a renovated warehouse in Seattle's Georgetown district. Inside, fabric bolts lined the walls in every color imaginable, and sketches covered a massive bulletin board.
"Wren Mercer?" A woman in her fifties approached, measuring tape around her neck and pins in her mouth. She removed the pins. "I'm Diane. Vera sent me your photos. Let's talk about what you envision."
I spread my inspiration images across her worktable. "Traditional ceremonial colors—cream and gold. But I want movement. Something that feels powerful but feminine. Strong but not rigid."
Diane studied the images, then me. "You're a wolf."
I froze. "How did you—"
"Relax. I've done ceremonial wear for three packs in the region. I know what a mating ceremony dress needs to do." She pulled
