LARA
At exactly six in the morning, I opened my eyes and stared at the ceiling, smiling before I was even fully awake.
Today was the quadruplets' birthday.
Noah. Caius. Lyra. Maria. Another year older.
It felt like yesterday I'd been holding four terrified-me-sized bundles, certain I'd fail them somehow. Now they ran wild through the pack house, charming their way out of every punishment they earned.
I let myself linger under the blankets a moment longer. This birthday was going to be special — not because they wanted anything extravagant, but because they deserved to know exactly how loved they were.
I got up, washed, dressed, and headed downstairs.
The pack house was quiet. Too quiet.
No shouting. No furniture scraping across floors. No arguing over whose turn it was to pick the
