DANTE
Sunset bleeds across the combat circle in shades that promise violence. Bob stands at its center, sweat already darkening his shirt despite the evening chill. Fear rolls off him in waves thick enough to taste—sour milk and copper pennies, the scent of a wolf who knows he's chosen death but can't back down now.
"Still time to reconsider."
Behind me, Mike and Eric take position with the fluid grace of enforcers who've held my back through cartel wars and federal raids. Elroy lounges against the fence, observer badge catching the dying light. His fingers dance across his tablet, documenting every breath for Council records that will either damn or vindicate us.
"We stand by our concerns." Bob's voice cracks, and he clears his throat like that might erase the weakness. "The pack dese
