Three months passed like water flowing over stones. Steady, inevitable, transformative. Winter loosened its grip on pack lands, giving way to early spring. Snow melted into rushing streams. Bare branches sprouted new growth. The world seemed to exhale after holding its breath through the coldest months.
Aria turned seventeen in late March, quietly, with just family and close friends. No grand celebration. She had requested simplicity, and her mother had honored that wish. Just cake, laughter, and the warmth of being surrounded by people who loved her for herself, not her gift.
The healing house had reopened fully, busier than ever. Word had spread beyond pack borders about the Little Luna who could restore stolen gifts. Victims of the Collectors came from distant territories, hoping for the miracle Aria and Ezra had managed for Margaret and the others.
