HOME WITH LENA
The pack received her the way packs receive family.
Not with ceremony. Not with formal introductions or structured welcome. There were no speeches, no lines to stand in, no careful choreography of belonging. Mia had called ahead, of course, she always did and by the time we pulled into Silverwood, the kitchen was full.
Not crowded in a suffocating way. Full in the way that mattered.
Voices layered over each other, low and warm. Someone laughed near the stove. The smell of food, real food, cooked for too many people on purpose, spilled out through the open windows. It wasn’t planned, not officially, but it was intentional in the way packs understood instinctively.
Someone was coming home.
So they gathered.
Lena stepped out of the car and went still.
It wasn’t hesitati
