ALONE IN THE LION'S DEN
The council building smelled the same.
Old stone, formal obligation, and the stale air of too many serious conversations. I had walked these corridors six times in the past six months, and each time my wolf registered the same wrongness, not danger, just the discomfort of a place used for things it wasn’t meant for.
Today, the wrongness had a name.
I signed in at the entrance desk with unhurried efficiency. The aide, young, professionally blank checked my name and directed me to the main chamber.
I walked the corridor alone.
My footsteps echoed.
I brushed my hand along the stone wall, feeling the building the way I felt everything now, the quiet exchange between my blood and the world around me. Centuries of decisions lingered here. Layers of power, intention
