The continental summit was held at the same Vermont estate where I'd first presented my territorial claims two months ago, but this time the atmosphere was entirely different.
Armed guards lined every entrance. Protesters gathered at the gates—some supporting Silverpaw restoration, others demanding my removal. Media crews from every major pack network jostled for position. This wasn't just a political gathering anymore.
This was a spectacle.
"Stay close," Ezra murmured as we exited the vehicle. His Lycan guards formed a protective circle around us. "And remember—calm, factual, unshakeable."
"No pressure."
"All the pressure. But you've handled worse."
Inside, the great hall had been reconfigured. Instead of the circular table, there was now a formal stage with podiums for speakers and
