Mika hadn't slept much before they left for the council chamber. She kept replaying the voice from her dream, the way it had talked about someone else it had tried this with before — someone whose grief still seemed to hang off it like smoke. She hadn't told Diego everything about that part yet. There hadn't been time.
The council chamber wasn't built for comfort. Stone walls, high ceilings, a ring of carved chairs older than the pack's current bloodline — and every single seat was full by the time Mika and Diego walked in.
Diego's mother sat at the center of the old guard's half of the room, spine straight, silver hair pulled back tight enough to look like a warning. Elena Castellan hadn't aged the way Mika expected. She looked sharper, somehow. Colder.
"So," Elena said, before either
