I woke up to the sound of movement—not the usual early-morning stirrings, but full-blown, coordinated chaos.
Outside my window, the pack grounds were buzzing with activity. Wolves were setting up gazebos, unfurling long rolls of linen across tables, stringing fairy lights between trees like we were hosting a scene straight out of a dream.
The scent of fresh-cut flowers mixed with wood polish and something savory simmering in the kitchen, drifting through the air like a silent invitation.
I stretched with a slow groan, dragging myself from the sheets and padding over to my wardrobe.
No dresses. No heels. No pressure.
Just comfort and utility for the day ahead.
I threw on a pair of black cargo pants, snug enough to feel secure but loose enough to move freely. A fitted olive-green tank
