POV: Silver Colt
The pack hall was ablaze with crimson lanterns, each one casting flickering shadows across the polished wood and stone floors. The scent of roasted venison and spiced mead mingled with the faint metallic tang of blood—an ancient reminder that this was not just a celebration, but a ritual bound in power. Tonight, under the Red Moon, every eye in Moonveil would be on the feast, every whisper carrying weight.
I stepped inside, my chest tight, trying to ignore the nerves coiling in my stomach. I wasn’t entirely sure why I felt so exposed, standing among alphas, betas, and seasoned warriors. But something about the gathering—the knowing glances, the subtle hierarchies—made me hyper-aware of my own weakness.
Amelia sat near the far end of the hall, an effortless picture of po
