The calmness that ensued after the ruptured council was not one of peace, but a battlefield after the first shot, where both factions retreated to tend to their wounds and strategize their next move in silence. The open snarl had been suppressed, yet the poison of dissonance now ran through the veins of the Haven, a secret, subtle toxin. Kael Fenris, the healer-Alpha, understood that he could not sew this wound with words. It required the subtle, silent application of pressure.
He stood in his quarters, the door shut behind him, the sole light from a single data slate. The faces of his pack flashed before him—bright, dedicated, shattered. The religion which had been their rock was now sand shifting beneath his feet. To take charge openly was to invite confrontation. To remain passive was
