The council chamber had never felt so small. Mira stood in the center of the stone floor, shoulders squared and spine straight, even though every instinct told her to run. The circular walls loomed high above, carved with old symbols that told stories of obedience, sacrifice, and blood-bound duty. Torches burnt low, their flames uneasy, as if they too sensed what was coming.
Ryker stood beside her, not in front of her but beside. That alone sent murmurs rippling through the gathered elders; Silverfang’s council filled the raised stone seats—twelve elders, grey-haired, scarred, and powerful. Wolves who had outlived wars and buried mates. Wolves who believed the world only stayed whole if ancient laws were obeyed without question.
The eldest elder, Morcant, leaned forward, his cane tapping
