The moon hung low over Bloodfang territory, a colossal, luminous orb casting its soft, silvery glow across the ancient trees and the sprawling pack land. Inside the packhouse, a deceptive quiet had fallen, but beneath its polished surface, a palpable tension simmered, a silent hum of unspoken anxieties.
Lyra sat on the edge of the bed, her fingers twisting the hem of her soft shirt, the fabric a comforting anchor against the turmoil in her mind. Her dreams had returned—not the blood-soaked, fire-laced nightmares of her brutal past, but something different, more ethereal.
Strange, peaceful visions. A dense forest bathed in the luminous, almost otherworldly glow of moonlight. And always, in the center of it, a woman with long, flowing hair that shimmered like spun silver, her eyes the col
