Diego’s POV
The council chamber smelled faintly of cedar and old parchment, the heavy air warmed by the glow of the fire-pit at the center. I sat at the head of the long carved table, its surface scarred from decades of use, while the other wolf leaders shifted in their seats.
It was always the same when I attended in person—no one was quite comfortable, no one dared to meet my gaze for too long. I didn’t mind it. Respect and fear often wore the same face.
Alpha Rourke from the western territory cleared his throat, the sound brittle in the silence. “Lord Diego, we’ve received requests from two border settlements—families displaced from the northern range. Their alpha was killed; the pack scattered. They’re asking for sanctuary.”
I steeple my fingers. “And what is your recommendation?”
