Richard
The council chamber had never felt colder. The air inside wasn’t cold from temperature but from judgment, from the kind of silence that makes your skin crawl. That silence followed me like a shadow through the halls of the Pack House, from the moment the headlines hit to the second I pushed open the double doors to face them all. I had known it would be bad. I hadn’t expected it to feel like a funeral. Every step toward the head of the table felt like approaching a grave.
Elder Menas sat at the head of the long table, fingers laced together and resting against the polished surface like he was preparing to deliver a eulogy instead of advice. His eyes were tired, but there was something gleaming behind them. It was not just disappointment. It was the sharp glint of political opport
