Opal's POV
The scent of roasted venison and garlic butter potatoes filled the air, curling through the cozy warmth of the packhouse kitchen. Laughter bounced off the walls. Opal sat curled beside Kael at the massive family table, her bare feet tucked under his thigh, her head resting against his shoulder.
For once, things felt normal.
Her mother's cheeks were flushed from cooking, her silver-streaked braid fraying at the edges as she set down a second tray of rolls. Ridge and Seraphina were bickering good-naturedly about which of them was stronger, Ash and Brooks were arguing about strategy versus brute strength, and Forrest—
"For the record," Forrest said, gesturing dramatically with a spoon dripping mashed potatoes, "if pudding ever becomes a combat tool again, I'm retiring."
"Retiring from what?" Opal asked, smirking.
"From greatness," he sniffed. "And from glitter-induced warfare."
