Author's point of view

The Saturday farmer's market was filled with the aroma of crisp apples, fragrant spices, and freshly baked bread in the early autumn air. Steaming cakes, handcrafted items, and colorful fruit were on exhibit at the stalls that lined the cobbled walkways. The room was alive with chatter and laughter, a mix of werewolf and human customers, as the city had gradually come to terms with their dual existence.

Marcus was standing far away. observing. He was leaning against the dark facade of a bookshop across the street, his hands stuffed deep in his jacket pockets, his stance controlled and stiff. From where he stood, he could...