Chapter 62

Addy’s POV

I’d barely started on the kitchen when I realized it was going to take twice as long as the living room. But then I spotted a Bluetooth speaker perched on the counter like a little disco cake topper, paired my phone, and cranked the volume. Out came Beyoncé (because yes, I’m basic), and suddenly scrubbing sink gunk felt less like a chore and more like a private solo concert. There was something undeniably therapeutic about soaking dishes in soapy bubbles—plus, I desperately needed a dance break from unpacking boxes.

Wolf-Damien—my slobbery four-legged roommate—watched me with those pleading eyes that said, “Feed me, woman.” So I rummaged through the fridge and unearthed a handful of questionable casseroles. They looked like they’d survived at least one apocalypse, but who was counting? I tossed them to him with a theatrical flourish. He inhaled each questionable bite like it was Michelin-star fare.

Inside, I winced. Werewolves, I reasoned, probabl