The Crescent's Shadow
A subdued tension filled the council chamber, made heavier by the late hour and flickering torches along the walls. Calhoun stood at the head of the long table, arms crossed, his golden eyes reflecting the scant light as he surveyed the pack’s most influential figures. An unspoken urgency pulsed through the room—an urgency he intended to address before it festered any further. Rosalind began, her tone quieter than usual. “We’ve confirmed the assassin’s insignia is linked to a group calling themselves the Silver Crescent.” She laid a worn scrap of leather on the table. “This piece is old, but the symbol is unmistakable.” David, leaning against the back of a chair, cast an appraising look at the item. “Used to be a fringe sect,” he said, voice low. “Fanatics, from what the old records say.
- Writer
