The pack house council room reeked of stale woodsmoke, withered herbs, and the faint metallic tang of worry. A single lantern burned low at the center of the scarred oak table, its flicker stretching shadows across maps of hunting grounds long stripped bare and ration ledgers that shrank by the week. Food had become a rumor, deer herds thinned by overhunting and rival incursions, gardens stunted by early frost, stores raided during the last skirmish. Each challenge for dominance bled them further: injured warriors, lost patrols, hunters pulled from the field to guard the den. Manpower dwindled. Exhaustion carved itself into every face. Still, the inner circle held.
Jason stood at the head of the table, shoulders rigid, eyes dark with strain. Mary, his chosen mate, sat close, her hand rest
