AZALEA'S POV
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I'm pacing back and forth, the little glass bottle cupped in my hand, the purple liquid flowing like water. "She isn't going to die," Auber scoffs, her eyes trained on me in disbelief. "I know that," I hiss. Lyra has always been fragile, every bone easily breakable, every breath could catch a cold and suck it into her immune system, which was practically nonexistent. Every hair atop her head could just fall off, her skin could have rashes for days, and in my hand, at this very moment, the vile of liquid, it could change everything. It can reunite her with her wolf, but what else would change?
The sun has set, the house feels too quiet, Corbin and Dustin left to deal with some internal matters in their own pack, and mom still hasn't returned home. She's been gone for days
