Calla's Perspective:
"I still don't understand how it works," I admitted to Iris a few days before Silver Moon was set to arrive. We sat in the packhouse garden, surrounded by Maya's magically enhanced flowers that seemed to bloom more vibrantly whenever she was nervous about something. The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the carefully tended beds, but I barely noticed the peaceful setting—my mind was too occupied with the impending diplomatic meeting that could determine the future of werewolf cooperation.
Iris set down her tea cup with careful precision and studied me with those pale blue eyes that always seemed to see more than they should. At seventy-three, she carried herself with the quiet confidence of someone who'd spent decades understanding magical complexities that oth
