The packhouse of Moonflare sat quiet under the late afternoon sun, its stone and timber walls glowing warmly as the breeze rustled the surrounding forest. Life here had settled into a rhythm, though nothing about this pack was ever truly calm. Even after everything with Lydia, there were new challenges, new faces and new problems to manage.
I leaned against the doorway of the packhouse, watching Asher toss our little boy into the air. His laughter rang out, bright and carefree, but the moment was tinged with the undercurrent of responsibility that came with being pack leaders. Our son squealed, arms flailing, before Asher caught him again, spinning him around before setting him down. The boy’s energy was endless, a constant reminder of why we had fought so hard for peace.
From the edge o
