Sally's POV
The morning air carries the scent of dew and fresh grass as I curl my fingers around the warm coffee mug. Warren's delighted squeals echo across the yard where he chases fireflies that somehow survived the dawn, his small feet dancing through patches of sunlight.
Karl settles onto the porch swing beside me, his shoulder brushing mine in that effortless way that sends warmth spiraling through my chest. The weight of last night's conversation with Jackson sits heavy between us, unspoken but impossible to ignore.
Moon Goddess bloodlines. Ancient pack mothers. Powers that could reshape entire werewolf communities.
The words still sound like something from a fantasy novel, yet deep in my bones, something recognizes their truth.
"You barely slept," Karl observes, his voice rough with exhaustion. His eyes track Warren's movements with protective intensity.
"Look who's talking." I nudge his ribs gently. "You tossed and turned all night."
