Lyra didn’t expect her past to call from a human area code.
Her phone buzzed on the workbench while she was elbow‑deep in a half‑disassembled sensor. She glanced at the screen, expecting Aiden or some unknown pack number.
Harper.
Her human half‑sister’s name sat there, bright and absurdly normal amid ward alerts and commission emails.
“Answer that,” Sienna said, not looking up from the axle she was wrestling with. “You get your tiny slice of normal. I’ll keep the apocalypse at bay.”
“Pretty sure this one’s just a drizzle,” Lyra muttered, but she stripped off her gloves and thumbed the call.
“Hey,” she said. “Did my ‘boring work trip’ radar slip again?”
Harper’s laugh crackled down the line. “You tell me,” she said. “I just got a news alert about ‘regional werewolf council reforms’ a
