The hall chosen for the Tribunal was older than the Academy itself—stone carved from the mountainside, walls etched with the sigils of every pack ever recognized by the High Council. It wasn’t just a room. It was history. Judgment. Finality.
Three seats sat at the front, raised above the chamber floor. The Elders of the Tribunal—impartial, ancient, bound to neutrality but not to mercy. Their presence turned the air heavy.
Aria stood in the center of the room.
Alone.
No coat. No armor. No mask.
She wore only a tunic of midnight gray and her name like a blade on her tongue.
Aria Caelan Velen.
Not Ry, the boy she’d pretended to be.
Not the bride she’d been forced to become.
Just her.
Kade stood behind her with the rest of the Academy council. He wasn’t allowed to speak unless called
