The cabin is a single large room, exuding a mixture of rustic warmth and quiet authority. A collection of mismatched armchairs surrounds a roaring wood burner, while a large, imposing desk sits at the far end of the space, an old leather chair behind it. Lining the walls are towering bookshelves crammed with volumes, a massive globe, and various artifacts that hint at history, power, and legacy.
Before I can take it all in, Dana’s voice cuts through the heavy silence.
“Welcome to the pack house, Ella,” she greets warmly, stepping forward and wrapping me in a motherly embrace.
I stiffen slightly, not out of discomfort but out of sheer uncertainty in this setting. Still, I force a small smile, trying my best to relax. But it’s difficult when the weight of the room, the weight of who rules
