The heavy parchment felt heavier than iron in Commander Caleb’s armored hand.
Wax flakes, dark violet and stamped with the twin-headed wolf of the Imperial Lycan Throne, dusted the pine table. Rain lashed against the timber walls of the clinic, each drop rattling the shutter like an impatient fist.
Max did not reach for the letter immediately.
He stood upright from the wooden stool, his tall frame instantly altering the space in the small room. The warmth from the fire seemed to pull back, replaced by a cold, calculating stillness that settled in his jaw.
"Read the directive, Caleb," Max commanded, his voice dropping into a low, even rasp.
Caleb broke the imperial seal with a silver blade and held the scroll toward the lantern light.
"By decree of the High Imperial Council of the Lyc
