The rain washed the world clean for two full days.
Not the violent kind that clawed at roofs and uprooted trees, but the patient kind that softened hard edges and reminded the earth how to breathe again. Blackthorne territory smelled of wet pine and new soil, and even the wolves moved slower, as if afraid to disturb the fragile peace settling over them.
Lila stood in the nursery doorway and let the scent drift around her.
The room was no longer empty in spirit. Small gifts from the pack rested on the shelf: knitted booties the color of midnight, a hand-carved moon pendant, a tiny blanket stitched with uneven but determined stars. Each item carried a heartbeat, a story, a wolf who had chosen to say we are with you.
Her fingers brushed the soft wool of the blanket.
“You’re already loved
