Aurora’s P.O.V

As we stepped into the front gardens of the pack house, the evening air wrapped around us like a soft whisper, carrying the scent of damp earth and fresh blossoms. The sky above was painted in streaks of gold and indigo, the last traces of daylight clinging stubbornly to the horizon. Shane walked beside me, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans, his gait casual but deliberate, like he was waiting for the right moment to say something. 

“Aurora,” he ...