The packhouse was unusually quiet that night. Most of the pack had retired early, the day’s tension giving way to an almost unnatural stillness. The confrontation with her stepsisters had drained Althea, and yet, she couldn’t seem to rest. Her limbs ached, her mind spun with the lingering echoes of their cutting words, and her chest was tight with the emotions she hadn’t let herself fully process.
The garden was her escape, as it often was. The moon hung low in the sky, its silvery light spilling across the grounds, softening the sharp edges of the estate. Althea stepped into the cool night air, wrapping her shawl around her shoulders as she wandered down the familiar paths.
For Althea, the day had been a blur of emotion. Her confrontation with Cassandra and Chloe felt both like a victor
