The tension in the assembly hall is like a live wire crackling through the air. Even before I slip through the carved double doors, I can feel the charged atmosphere prickling along my skin, feeding that ever-present thrum of the vow coursing in my veins. The broad chamber, usually reserved for quiet debates or celebratory gatherings, has transformed into a warzone of fierce glances and snarled words.
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I hover at the threshold for a moment, taking in the sight: around a long wooden table sit several pack members, each radiating a distinctive aura of authority or cunning. Some are robed elders, others wear tailored suits reminiscent of the modern enforcers I encountered before. At first glance, the lines of division are blurred. But as soon as I step inside, I sense the undercurrents of
