The grand assembly chamber in the Stormborn stronghold was abuzz with tension. High-arched ceilings and polished floors gleamed under torchlight, a setting once reserved for celebrations and peaceful gatherings. Today, however, the chamber brimmed with the unsettled energy of packs who had traveled far to discuss the newly unearthed threats.
Aria Stormborn-Blackthorne lingered at the room’s edge, feeling smothered by polite formalities. Packs from every corner, Snowfang, Ironridge, Silver Grove, and others, had arrived, each one bearing their emblem and flanked by stern guards. Elegant rugs muffled the shuffle of feet, while richly carved chairs lined the center. But despite the show of unity, Aria sensed the underlying hostility simmering beneath it all.
She wore a formal cloak, embroid
