Breakfast had started with the kind of fragile normalcy Daisy had grown used to in the compound. The dining room buzzed with conversation and the clatter of plates, the pack instinctively gathering for the morning meal. Marylou, despite her obvious exhaustion, had made a show of being cheerful, sitting beside her husband Steve with her usual grace. Her delicate fingers toyed with a piece of toast, her smile thin but warm.
Daisy watched her closely, her instincts prickling. The memory of the mark on Marylou’s arm haunted her, a dark thread that tugged at the edges of her thoughts. The Moon’s Tear hung heavy against her chest, its faint warmth a constant reminder of the power coursing through her veins.
Then it happened.
Marylou’s hand jerked, sending her glass of orange juice spilling ac
