Nefretiri
The memory takes me over, and I don't just see it like before. I lived it, every emotion. The knowledge six-year-old me knew, and even the pain of the first time I learned about the flowers. It all surrounds me, and suddenly, I'm not twenty anymore; I'm six. Standing in the lobby of our apartment complex, which was also our packhouse, my mother held my arms, yelling at me.
You'd think it would be impossible to live in Brooklyn and still be a werewolf pack, but you'd be wrong. The whole pack lived in the same building. No one guessed the reason you couldn't get an apartment with us wasn't your credit score or that there was no availability. You'd never find our address on a rental site, and since we looked so different, no one suspected we had a thicker bond than blood. We were close to the botanical gardens if anyone needed a run. The pack went to the national forest every weekend to run and be with the wild.
