“Good morning,” the woman said softly, her voice low and steady. “Don’t be afraid, Daisy. I didn’t mean to… intrude.” Her fingers fidgeted against the blanket, revealing a silver ring engraved with a crescent moon.“I don’t fully understand it either,” she admitted with a small, nervous smile. “But last night — something pulled me here. The bond, maybe. I just… knew you were cold. And that you were mine.” The words hung in the still air, delicate as glass. Amara’s expression softened. “Fate’s word, not mine. But yes — Amara Wynn.” She offered her hand, the faintest spark of heat where skin met skin. “Your Luna.”