Daphne
The air was cooler than usual for midsummer, the kind of evening breeze that slipped past the collar of your shirt and whispered secrets down your spine. I needed to breathe. To move. To feel anything that didn’t involve pacing holes into my bedroom floor or staring at the ceiling waiting for someone else to decide the rest of my life.
So I walked.
The packgrounds were mostly quiet—just a few lanterns lit, the low murmur of voices in the distance, wolves settling into their routines. I wandered farther than usual, past the training fields and into the back gardens where wild mint and moonflowers grew in uneven lines along the fence.
That’s when I saw Taryn.
She was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the garden, palms resting on her thighs, eyes closed, face tipped toward the
