The moment Ryleigh stepped inside the library, the world shifted.
It smelled like old paper and wood polish, with a faint sweetness of dried lavender drifting from somewhere unseen. The interior was a blend of cozy and grand—soft light streaming through tall windows, rows of worn bookshelves stretching from wall to wall, and arched ceiling beams stained a deep mahogany. It felt sacred. Quiet. Heavy with time.
Books lined every corner—some thin and colorful, some ancient with cracked spines and gold lettering barely clinging to the covers. To the right, a large reading area with plush armchairs surrounded a low fireplace, its mantle stacked with historical fiction and romance novels. To the left, framed photographs of pack founders lined the walls, beneath a sign that read: Black Hollow L
