Lyla
A sleek black car pulled up in front of a tiny house with a charming small garden, the engine purring to a stop after our long journey from the pack lands. Without waiting for Ramsey to come around and open my door—a habit he'd developed over the past two months that I found both endearing and unnecessary—I practically tumbled out of the passenger seat.
"Hey, slow down… you're pregnant."
But I ignored him and raced toward the entrance with a bright smile spreading across my face. My heart soared with a mixture of nostalgia and joy. The familiar sight of my old human home, with its white picket fence and carefully tended flower beds, brought back a flood of memories from what felt like another lifetime.
Standing in front of the place where I'd once lived as just Lyla the college student and the working-class girl, I exhaled deeply and spread my hands toward the sky.
