The next morning came slowly and peacefully.
For once, the sun was warm instead of harsh, and the packhouse didn’t feel like a war zone. The air smelled of fresh rain and pine. I could hear people outside — laughter, the sound of boots against dirt, the faint chatter of warriors sparring in the distance.
It almost felt normal.
After everything that had happened — the attack, the meeting, the endless training — the calm felt strange. I wasn’t used to stillness anymore.
Jax and I had planned to take the day off, or at least half of it. Joseph insisted the pack rest before the next round of training. Even warriors needed a break.
When I stepped outside, Jax was already waiting near the porch steps. He had a mug of coffee in his hand, hair still messy from sleep, eyes soft with that quiet
