As the sun dipped lazily behind the jagged peaks of the Alberta mountains, painting the sky in the warmest shades of orange and pink, the mansion's expansive backyard transformed into what felt like a massive festival ground.
The Mediterranean-style appetizers, fresh leek pastries, and olive oil dishes that Ivy and I had been preparing since morning filled the picnic tables, while the familiar, sizzling aroma of a grand barbecue wafted from the other side of the yard, enveloping the entire pack center. Varg had slowly moved past his "abandoned lover" trauma and taken his place at the grill with a massive set of tongs; yet, even over the smoke billowing like dragon's breath, his eyes remained sharply fixed on our daughter, Solira, who was still aggressively gnawing on Baron's t-shirt.
