The surprise arrival of my mother, flanked by Dave who was shouldering a heavy sack, caught me entirely off guard.
"Why didn't you say you wanted to catch up?" I couldn't conceal my astonishment.
Fae Aurora's response was tinged with a knowing sadness, "I kept it a secret because I was certain you'd argue against it, Barby."
It was then that Fae Aurora stepped forward, her hands cradling a picnic basket filled with the fruits of her labor. "I've brought some muffins I made, sweet child. Make sure you eat them before heading off to work."
The day held more surprises, as Asher and Sawyer burst through the door, their arms laden with bags that seemed to chime with the promise of sweets.
"Mom, can I assist too?" Asher's voice was filled with an eagerness to contribute.
"Of course, sweetie. Just place them over there, then come join us. There are many new faces to meet."
Taking my cue, Asher and Sawyer diligently arranged the confections before mingling with the children of the orphanage. Their initial awkwardness soon gave way to laughter and shared stories, weaving invisible threads of connection among them.
Once the pleasantries were exchanged, it was time to roll up our sleeves for the task at hand. Fae Aurora and I, surrounded by a keen audience of mixed ages, embarked on crafting a culinary masterpiece—a mouthwatering combination of savory mulberry pie matched perfectly with the zesty flavor of lemon roast, all balanced by the subtle heat of spicy palm sugar sauce. The aroma filled the air, hinting at the feast of flavors to come, a tangible manifestation of shared effort and communal joy.
The door creaked open yet again, slicing through the symphony of sizzling and chopping that filled the kitchen. Dave stepped through, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a smile as the rich aroma of our culinary endeavors wrapped around him like a warm hug.
"It smells so good in here," he declared, a note of genuine appreciation in his voice. His gaze shifted, beckoning our attention to the figure behind him – a girl with hair like spun gold, each strand catching the light as if woven from the sun itself. "Everyone, this is Prilly."
A curious silence fell, just for a moment, before I broke it.
"Ah, hi Prilly. Nice to meet you. How was your exam, kiddo?" My inquiry was casual, yet carried the warmth of genuine interest.
Prilly's eyes lit up at the question, a bright spark in the dim light.
"Luna, nice to meet you too. And thank you for asking," she responded with a sincerity that wrapped her words in velvet. "Everything went surprisingly well. If I pass, I'm planning to devote my life to saving children discarded by their Packs for being considered weak."
"That's the nicest thing, Prilly." My smile felt as wide as the horizon as I gently placed the pie onto the serving plate, the crust golden and inviting. "I'd be bursting with pride if you embraced such a dream. Your kindness? It's celestial."
"Thank you, Luna." A hint of crimson colored Prilly's cheeks as she inclined her head, humility in her grace. She unpacked her bag on the table, her movements deliberate, poised. "I'll help you set the table, Luna." Together, we moved in a harmonious ballet of sorts, arranging plates and cutlery, each motion a silent testament to our camaraderie.
It was then Timothee appeared, his entrance less graceful, marked by the heavy weight of trouble on his brows. His face, usually so composed, was twisted into a knot of distress. With a heart suddenly heavy with concern, I moved towards him, my voice soft with worry. "What's wrong? Talk to me. Is something amiss?"
"Nothing." His shrug attempted nonchalance but failed to mask the storm brewing behind his eyes.
"It was about Caitlin," Timothee replied, his voice laced with an unexpected gravity. "She decided to leave Silver Armor."
"Isn't that better, Lycan?" Dave chimed in, a hint of optimism threading through his words. "I mean, she's a little more suited to being a Rogue than being part of Silver Armor."
I sighed, feeling the weight of their words settle around us like a thick fog. In the dim light, I reached out, my hand finding Timothee's shoulder in a gesture of silent support.
"That's not what concerns me, Dave. It's Caitlin's penchant for loose lips and carelessness that unnerves me. She's a vault with a broken lock; secrets could slip out and land in the hands of those gunning for our downfall." Timothee's voice was laced with weariness as he dragged his fingers across his temple, lost in the gravity of potential betrayals.
"Should we detain her then?" Dave ventured, the words heavy, like stones dropped in still water.
"Focus on the pressing matters at hand instead, Dave. And keep him from adding fuel to the fire—his pride doesn't need any more room to grow here," Timothee intervened, aiming to redirect Dave's growing zeal.
"Understood, Lycan," he murmured, a hint of deference in his nod. Beside me, Timothee's grip tightened—a silent testament to his resilience, yet a portent of the storm brewing on our horizon.
But deep down, the thought of Caitlin's potential exile sent a ripple of unease through me.
Her arrogance and irritability, as vexing as they were, might have been cloaked signals of her unvoiced affection for Timothee. A dangerous love, veiled and volatile.
"What's on your mind, sweetie?" Fae Aurora's touch was as light as a breeze, yet it carried the weight of maternal concern.
"It's nothing, Mom," I answered, but the tremble in my voice betrayed my fear.
"Are you sure?" Fae Aurora gaze lingering on me.
"You look pale," observed Fae Aurora, concern etching her features as she studied me closely. "If you're feeling under the weather, it might be best for you to rest. Allow me to take over the cooking."
I offered her a weak chuckle in response, shaking my head. "No need, Mom. I'll handle it. We should all sit down for dinner together soon."
Eager to prove my resilience, I hastened back to the kitchen, where a few dishes still simmered from the morning's efforts.
Each dish, upon inspection, revealed a perfect blend of flavors and aromas, a testament to hours of careful preparation.
I plated the meals with a sense of satisfaction, eager for the communal tranquility that dinner promised.
The dinner commenced with a serene beauty, each of us lost in the comforting routine of shared meals and soft conversation.
It was a peaceful respite, reminiscent of less turbulent times.
However, this semblance of peace was abruptly shattered by the sound of rushing footsteps and labored breathing piercing the calm of the evening.
We all turned in unison towards the door, expressions morphing from contentment to concern.
A figure burst through the entryway, his appearance marked by urgency and distress.
"Lycan! Permission to report!" he gasped, struggling to catch his breath. "The fence at the border has been compromised. A band of Hunters managed to break through and they've injured one of our own!"
"What?!"