The council session stretched into a second day as representatives worked through the logistics of Callahan's exile, and it was during a break in proceedings that Silas approached me alone, his expression carrying a seriousness that told me whatever he wanted to discuss mattered more than simple pleasantries.
Walk with me, he said, and I glanced toward Ronan, who nodded once, trusting enough now in the fragile alliance we had built to allow the conversation without hovering protectively the way he might have weeks earlier.
We walked along the edge of the hall's gardens, autumn air cool against my skin, and Silas remained quiet for several minutes before finally speaking what was clearly weighing on him.
My pack is still dying, he said simply. Whatever justice we've achieved against Call
