Elsa’s POV
The whole pack house is alive with movement, every hallway filled with footsteps, every room echoing with voices. Amelia announced days ago that there would be a celebration for the baby, and no one questioned it. Why would they? A Luna carrying the Alpha’s child is reason enough for joy, a reason for every allied pack to gather, for music to be played, for food and wine to flow as though the night could never end. On the surface, it is simple. It is expected. It is tradition. But I cannot shake the feeling that something lies beneath it.
The kitchens bustle from sunrise to long after dusk, omegas carrying baskets of fruit and meat, flour dusting their aprons as they argue gently over recipes and flavours. Decorations arrive in boxes tied with string, bolts of fabric in shades
