The days in Bloodfang had softened.
It wasn't an abrupt transformation, not a grand, sweeping gesture of change, but rather a gradual unfolding, a gentle easing into a new reality. It arrived in slow, steady rhythms—like the way dawn crept over the jagged peaks of the mountains, quiet and golden, painting the sky with tender hues.
Lyra no longer flinched at every loud footstep that echoed through the stone corridors, no longer instinctively lowered her gaze when a pack member passed. The house, once a fortress of unfamiliar faces and potential threats, was still full of powerful warriors, intricate politics, and the underlying hum of danger that was inherent to pack life.
Yet, for Lyra, it had also grown familiar.
It had grown hers.
She stood in the bustling kitchen that morning, a
