The Stonehaven war room was a cage of tension. Maps of the eastern territories were spread across the oak table, weighted down by daggers and untouched goblets of wine. Valen stood at the head, his knuckles white where they pressed against the table’s edge. Beta Silas paced like a caged wolf. And in the center of the storm, facing them both, stood Elara’s brother, Cassian.
He was not the tallest Alpha-heir, but he carried an intensity that made up for it. His hair, the same burnished gold as Elara’s, was cropped close to his skull. His eyes, usually bright with strategic cunning, were now narrow chips of amber ice fixed on Valen.
“A training accident?” Cassian’s voice was deceptively soft, a razor wrapped in silk. He had arrived with the dawn, summoned from his border patrols by frantic,
