THE COST OF POWER.
The fire in Silas’s chamber hissed and the burning cedarwood snapped, sending orange sparks against the weathered wooden floors, along with bursts of aroma and heat from the fireplace into the air.
The room wasn’t grand—more practical than opulent, with aging tapestries and brown brick walls dulled by years of smoke.
A narrow window rattled under the weight of the night wind, its shutters creaking with each gust.
Silas stood by the hearth, hands braced on the mantel, though the fire offered little warmth.
He hadn’t eaten since morning. The food on the table had gone cold, untouched. His stomach grumbled, but his thoughts were louder. Thoughts of the future. His future.
The Silvercrown Pack was gone. Burned and scattered to the wind.
But the crown hadn’t acknowle
