Every surface of the Lunar Citadel's great hall glistened with a controlled elegance, reflecting the meticulous illusion of unity that Ryker knew did not really exist. Banners with the crests of allied packs hung from iron rafters like silent witnesses to centuries of shaky alliances, and crystal chandeliers threw pale light across polished obsidian floors.
Mira was standing next to him at the door, her shoulders straight, her face composed, but he could sense the slight shudder of her discomfort through their relationship.
The emotional echo between them had grown stronger since the previous night.
Ryker adjusted the cuff of his dark ceremonial coat and lowered his voice. “This banquet is not a celebration. It is a battlefield where no one carries a blade.”
Mira glanced at the crowded
