The council convened at dawn.
The first light of morning crept through the windows of the meeting hut, casting long shadows across the worn wooden floor. Elara sat at the long table, her heart heavy with grief but her mind clear with purpose. She had not slept well—had not slept well since Damon's death—but she had forced herself to rise, to dress, to come. The pack needed her.
Around her, the elders of Shadowfang gathered—Marta, old Garrick, the warriors who had survived the battle. Their faces were lined with exhaustion and sorrow, but their eyes were steady. Theron represented the Meteor survivors, his presence a reminder of the alliance that had saved them all. Sera spoke for her people, her loyalty hard-won through blood and sacrifice.
And at the head of the table, the Alpha's chai
