Lucian
Mara and I stayed indoors all day. I told her everything that had happened in Mistwood—every near miss, betrayal, and blood-soaked moment.
It didn’t feel funny when I was living it, but now, in the comfort of home with my wife curled beside me, it all sounded absurd. Somehow, the retelling made it bearable. We laughed—not because it was humorous, but because we’d survived it.
I hadn’t expected to return to protests. Apparently, the streets were full of angry pack members, demanding answers. Truth was, Mooncrest had been teetering on the edge for a while—low productivity, no economic backbone of its own. Driftwake’s exports were propping us up. No wonder they were scared.
It only confirmed what I already knew: there had to be a reform. I would run things differently now—more tra
