Luna Isadora Voss maintained an absolute, suffocating silence for three entire days.
It was not a symptom of hesitation; it was pure, predatory calculation. She allowed seventy-two hours for Alpha Caius’s morning directives to embed themselves within the pack’s administrative network. She watched from a distance as the Beta Council’s emergency session fractured into an inconclusive, paranoid recess, and she monitored Councilman Draven as he methodically fielded high-court inquiries without uttering a single actionable syllable.
She let the entire fortress assume she had been decisively castrated.
She was not wounded. She was mapping the new trajectory of the board. On the fourth morning, Isadora activated her private terminal and executed three precise communications before breakfast.
