The pack kitchen is already awake—low voices, the scrape of mugs, the smell of coffee and bread warming—but Aurora is half-turned toward the doorway when a new presence crosses the threshold. Human. Not fragile. Not out of place. Just… unfamiliar. Aurora stills without meaning to. Not staring—she’s careful about that—but aware in the way she is when something important enters her space quietly. She sets her mug down before it cools too much, giving Daisy time to orient herself before speaking. “Morning,” she says, voice calm, unhurried. No command in it. No edge. “You’re welcome to anything that’s out. Fresh bread’s still warm.” A brief pause—enough to be polite, not invasive. “I’m Aurora,” she adds. “You must’ve arrived late last night.” Her gaze lifts just long enough to meet Daisy’s, steady and open, then eases away again—an invitation, not a test.