POV: Tristan
The Great Hall was a sea of grim faces and flickering torchlight. Usually, this room was a place of celebration, filled with the scent of roasted meat and the boisterous laughter of warriors. Tonight, it felt like a tomb. The air was thick with the metallic tang of silver and the heavy, oppressive aura of the pack elders.
I stood at the edge of the circle, my fists clenched so tightly that my claws were drawing blood from my own palms. In the center of the hall, Rena sat on a low wooden stool. They had removed the heavy shackles, but four guards stood around her with silver-tipped spears. She looked small—painfully small—under the vaulted stone ceiling.
"The evidence is before us," Silas announced, his voice echoing with a theatrical gravity. He pointed to the Moon-Seal res
