The sun rose slowly over Moonflare, casting golden streaks through the treetops and warming the stone and timber of the packhouse. Birds called, leaves rustled, and the air carried the faint, sweet scent of wildflowers mingling with the earthy perfume of the forest. For the first time in a long time, the packhouse felt… calm. Not stagnant, not empty, but alive in a steady, peaceful rhythm.
Asher and I sat on the broad steps of the packhouse, our little boy tucked between us, laughing as he reached for the leaves blowing past. His tiny hands grabbed at the air, fingers wiggling, eyes shining with delight. I watched him, chest swelling with pride and love. Six months had passed since Lydia, since the chaos, the threats, the manipulation, and the blood. Moonflare had survived and we had surv
