Morning sunlight streams through the windows as I make my way downstairs, my stomach growling despite my hesitation. I haven't eaten breakfast at the pack house since that first humiliating day with Anton. The memory still burns – his cold words cutting through me while everyone at the table pretended not to hear, though their pinched expressions and awkward glances said otherwise. The thought of facing those pitying looks again makes my chest tight.
A mouthwatering aroma of sizzling bacon and freshly brewed coffee draws me toward the kitchen. For a moment, I think Ana might have come early to cook, but as I round the corner, I'm greeted by an unexpected sight. Liam stands at the stove, wearing a black apron over his casual clothes, spatula in hand as he tends to several pans with practiced ease.
He turns at my entrance, his smile bright against the morning light. "Good morning, Luna," he says, flipping a perfectly golden piece of french toast.
My fingers move swiftly through the air,
