Damian's P.O.V.
The war room buzzed with a quiet tension as the pack’s elders filled the space. Their faces, carved by time and hardship, bore the weight of wisdom—and fear. The moonstone lay at the center of the table, pulsing faintly under the glow of the full moon, its light casting shifting shadows across the scroll beside it.
I stood at the head of the table, my gaze sweeping across the room. I could feel their unease as surely as my own, a silent hum in the air that made the bond with Kiera thrum with protective energy.
Clearing my throat, I broke the silence. “We were attacked tonight,” I began, keeping my voice steady and commanding. “But it wasn’t rogues. It was something... else. Something tied to this.” I gestured toward the moonstone and the aged scroll.
The elders exchange
