Nightfall’s council room wasn’t grand.
It was a side chamber off the main hall with a long scarred table, too many mismatched chairs, a faded map of the northern territories on one wall and a rack of weapons on the other. No banners. No carved crests. Just wood, stone, and purpose.
Aria was used to seeing councils from the back of the room, if at all. Today she sat at the table.
Rowan had insisted.
“If they’re going to talk about humans and politics,” he’d said that morning, “we need the wolf who actually understands both in the room.”
So she sat between Lena and Mara, facing Nightfall’s inner circle and two guests: Garrick, the broad‑shouldered Alpha of a neighboring pack, and Corvin — a thin, sharp‑eyed wolf from the Council whose posture and expression both said he’d rather be anyw
