Aurelia
There was something comforting about flowers and chocolate. Not for myself, of course—I was no romantic. But holding them in my hands made me feel… softer. Human, even. Like I belonged in the kind of world that still had warm afternoon visits and polite door-knocks instead of blood, broken hearts, and secrets.
The sun was gentle on my skin as I stood before Leena’s small, peach-colored house, nestled just outside the bustling pack grounds. A vine with purple blooms trailed up her mailbox, and two wooden chairs sat invitingly on the porch. I smiled to myself, tightening my grip on the woven basket full of fresh lilies and hydrangeas. The bag of chocolates was tucked neatly beside it—dark chocolate, because Leena once mentioned her son had “an old man’s taste in sweets.”
I raised
