Daisy had never fully appreciated what the word "bustling" actually meant until now.
The Grand Dame's mansion—once a stately Victorian showcase of Sawyer elegance—had transformed into something between a refugee camp, a supernatural kindergarten, and what Daisy could only describe as the world's most chaotic home renovation show.
And somehow, against all logic, it worked.
She navigated the crowded main hallway, dodging a pair of were-badger cubs engaged in what appeared to be an impromptu wrestling match, stepped over three different piles of sorted laundry, and narrowly avoided collision with a harried-looking were-lynx carrying a stack of paperwork taller than most toddlers.
"Morning, Ms. Sawyer," the were-lynx called, somehow balancing her precarious load despite the chaos. "The su
