The letter did not remain only a letter for long.
Two days after Tristan burned it, the first real consequence arrived in the form of a formal complaint lodged with the elders—anonymous at first, then quietly traced to a cluster of ranking families who had been silent since the claim. The complaint did not challenge the bond outright. That door had already closed. Instead it questioned my readiness. My temperament. My ability to represent the pack without creating further instability. It requested a delay of the ceremony until additional evaluation could be completed.
It was political. Careful. Designed to look reasonable.
It was also an attack.
Tristan received the notice during breakfast. I watched the anger move through him in a single controlled wave—first the stillness, then the s
