Wren withdrew the aged letter from its protective satchel with careful, steady hands, unfolding the yellowed parchment before the assembled council with a deliberateness that seemed to draw every eye in the pavilion toward the small, weathered document.
"This letter was written by my father, the last Calloway Alpha, mere hours before the m******e that killed him," she said, her voice carrying clearly despite the accumulated exhaustion weighing down her limbs. "In it, he details growing suspicions about discrepancies in the household's ward maintenance records — discrepancies that pointed directly toward the man responsible for maintaining those very defenses."
She held the letter aloft, allowing the council members closest to the dais to examine its aged handwriting directly. "He names C
