It had been too long since the Crescent Moon werewolves had truly rested. The festival, the ceremonies, the echoes of war, all of it had left an invisible weight on their shoulders. But now, with the skies calm and the veil steady, Alexander had declared a reprieve.
"We're going to the beach house," Della announced at breakfast, passing Lily a slice of lemon-drizzled cake. "And not for a mission. Not for a council meeting. Just… to breathe."
Lily nearly dropped her fork. "Are you serious?"
Pickle, who was lounging under the table, stealthy and steadfast in his quest to sneak treats from Lily, thumped his tail and yipped with glee.
"Oh, he heard you," Terrance chuckled, sipping his coffee.
"Of course he did," Tina said. "Pickle's been dreaming of sea salt and dolphins for months."
