Ashyra stood in front of the grand stone archway that marked the entrance to the Elder Council’s Hall, her spine straight, her jaw tight. Even after everything she’d seen—rogues rallying under a dead Alpha, betrayal layered with black magic—this place still made her uneasy. It was too quiet. Too clean. Like everything unpleasant had been scrubbed away.
Inside, long banners of every pack hung from the high ceilings. Silverclaw’s sigil—a wolf’s head flanked by twin crescents—drifted near the front. Nightshade’s banner flew next to it, darker and more severe. An ironic pairing, considering the tension their two packs had always carried.
Today, though, they stood together.
Kael led their delegation, flanked by Ashyra and Stephan. Behind them came Rhea, two Silverclaw warriors, and three Nig
