Lucien
The Pack gathered at dusk.
Not summoned.
Invited.
I stood at the edge of the conservatory, watching the bloom pulse in quiet rhythm. Mira had braided her breath into the soil earlier that morning, and the petals still shimmered with her glyphlight. The perimeter was holding. The Archive was listening. And I was ready.
Not to lead.
To speak.
---
They arrived slowly.
Council members.
Elders.
Tethered pairs.
Unaligned wolves.
Even the botanists came—those who hadn’t stepped foot in the conservatory since my mother’s reassignment.
They didn’t know what I was going to say.
But they knew something had shifted.
---
I waited until the last chair was filled.
Then I stepped forward.
The bloom flared once.
Then held.
---
“Thank you for coming,” I said. “This isn’t a summi
