= Amara =
“Luna.”
Caryl’s voice cut through the quiet like a knife, sharp and deliberate.
I lifted my gaze from the stack of reports strewn across my desk, blinking once as though awakening from a trance. The numbers, the notes Mikael had handed me that morning—they blurred together in my mind until her presence snapped me back. I hadn’t even noticed her approach; I had been so absorbed, so painfully consumed by the minutiae of the pack’s daily grind, that the sound of her voice felt like it had broken through a wall of paper and ink.
For now, Mikael had assigned me to tackle the pack’s minor issues and propose solutions. Minor, at least in name. The problems themselves weren’t catastrophic when taken individually—arguments over boundary lines, delays in supply shipments, minor protoco
