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A bright banner is hung over the door, which reads in violet paint:
THE SAINT PACK HOSTS HAVEN’S FIRST ANNUAL FOOD FESTIVAL!
Why am I not surprised that the Saint pack’s name features first?
The mayor could never let anyone forget that his status is most important, even though it’s Senator Falcon in the Knight pack who’s actually funding the contest’s big prize.
The manicured garden is covered with a large number of bright stalls and tents between the conifers, flower beds, and apple trees. Slender peacocks with iridescent tails wander around the stalls, softly honking.
I wrinkle my nose at the delicious mixed smells of cheese, freshly baked bread, and sweet pastries.
I don’t need my enhanced scent abilities to be bombarded by the aromas of the delicious wares on display from locally sourced sausages being sold at stalls to fresh strawberries from farms on the outskirts, topped with cream and sugar.
A lot of talented people work in this small town.
It fills me with pride.
I grin, when I see Angel with her pack, the Champions, milling in the crowds. In fact, a large number of elite packs have turned up: the Knights, Marshals, and Kings.
Packs, who I only learned yesterday through Thomas, are also resistance just like us, and have turned up to support us.
Vito and I have felt alone our entire lives.
The truth is that the moment we joined the resistance, however, we were never alone again.
Perhaps, even before that.
Because the Omega resistance were there, looking out for every Omega.
It makes my heart soar to think that I can now be a part of that.
I rub at my tired eyes.
Shit, have I messed up my mascara?
I spent over an hour this morning, painting my nails (and wishing that Vito was with me so that I could do his as well), and drawing on my violet lipstick.
I have a grand announcement to make later, after all.
Yet I can’t help yawning in exhaustion.
I spent all of yesterday, most of the night, and this morning, designing and baking my special cake for the contest. Of course, most of that time was also taken up with making the decorations.
Vito calls me a cake artist.
When I stood back and looked at the chocolate cake on the table, based on Mom’s recipe but to my own design, it made my heart skip a beat.
It was perfect.
I hope that Vito loves it too.
“You look beautiful.” Thomas leans closer to me. I can feel his warmth, as he stands behind me. “Do you like the dress? I thought that we could wow in matching outfits. Before you say anything, this is definitely both a possessive gesture and me making a statement about no longer being available because I picked you. I own that.”
I smile, glancing over my shoulder at Thomas.
He looks relaxed, even though I know that he’s not.
This is the biggest day of our lives.
