Everywhere stung of power and deceit. It wasn’t a cave like the old stories said the elders used to meet in; this was a polished glass chamber, high above the city skyline, where ancient bloodlines wore designer suits and drank whiskey while deciding the fate of the packs.
At the long table sat six men and one woman, all wearing the same tight expression—the kind that hid too much. At the head sat Elder Thorne, his salt-and-pepper hair slicked back, his cufflinks glinting faintly under the light. He didn’t need to speak to control the room. The air already shifted for him.
“We have a problem,” Thorne finally said, voice smooth as aged bourbon but sharp enough to cut. “The Blood Witch. You must have heard we're looking for the spirit but I know some of you don't believe it.”
A murmur swe
