The first thing I felt was warmth.
Not the comfort of blankets wrapped around me, nor the familiar heat of Tristan’s presence beside me—but the gentle embrace of sunlight spilling through the sheer curtains. The second thing I felt was movement.
Soft murmurs. The quiet rustling of fabric. And then… hands.
I jolted awake, eyes flying open to find a small group of women surrounding my bed—omegas, their heads slightly bowed, their expressions carefully neutral but determined.
“It is time, Luna,” one of them said, her voice soft but firm.
I blinked, still groggy. “Time for what?”
“For your purification.”
Before I could process the words, they moved in perfect sync, peeling back the covers and guiding me out of bed with an efficiency that made it clear they had done this before. I barely
