CHAPTER 22 — Cracks in the Borders
Clara
Fear has a scent, most people don’t notice it unless it’s overwhelming, like rain about to strike dry earth. But I do, I always have. And that morning, as I walked into the council chamber behind Peter, the air was thick with it.
The long round table carved from ancient oak dominated the center of the conference room, its surface scarred from generations of claws, fists, and maps slammed in desperation. This was where the magic happened, where the council assembled to discuss and create strategies to move the pack forward.
Wolves were already seated, from commanders to special advisors. Their murmurs hushed the moment Peter stepped inside. He carried authority well, even in doubt.
I followed a step behind him, my heels silent against the tiled
