The days blurred into this easy rhythm after that—mornings at the healer's clinic for throat fixes, afternoons knee-deep in Dad's dirt, planting wildflowers or dangling lines in the creek, chasing lazy bites.
Swelling finally eased; words started trickling back, gravelly but mine. I hit up the old pack sisters for mall crawls and coffee klatsches, spilling laughs like nothing cracked me.
That Belmor Town firecracker pup? Back, brighter than before—sparkling harder, scars be damned.
Edward and I dove into pack office reins—lessons in the study, spreadsheets and strategy. Our vibe? Rocketed close, electric but soft. I'd tag along on his bloom hunts too, chasing those freaky hybrids in hidden thickets.
Little over a moon later, my dorm-sister pinged: campus grad shoot, you in?
No brainer
