The Ironwood Alpha arrived at our border by noon.
No warning. No request for meeting. No diplomatic message sent ahead to establish terms — just a single runner at the eastern boundary marker at eleven forty-five with a folded note that said, in handwriting so controlled it looked printed:
Alpha Crest requests audience. Border. One hour.
I read it twice.
"Alpha Crest," I said.
"Ironwood's Alpha." Damien took the note from my hand and looked at it with the expression he reserved for things that were problems he'd been expecting. "Mara Crest. Forty-three. Third generation Alpha, inherited the title from her mother rather than challenging for it." He set the note down. "Smart. Methodical. Not cruel but not soft either." A pause. "She and Kaden had an arrangement that benefited Ironwood s
