WREN’S POV
The hoodie hung loose on my frame, the fabric soft and worn from years of overuse. It was one of the only few I owned, the last bit of comfort I’d clung to through all the chaos of my life. The scent of old laundry detergent still clung faintly to it, grounding me as I slipped out of the room.
The chill in the air made me shiver, a reminder that my mother had underestimated the island’s winter. She’d assumed it would be all sunshine and warmth not biting cold and the potential for snow.
Of course, she hadn’t known much else about this trip. Hell, I hadn’t either.
I wrapped my arms around myself, the hoodie doing little to stave off the cold. How was I supposed to tell Alpha Ronan that I didn’t have many clothes with me? Worse, that I didn’t even own many back home? The
