I do not answer them. That is the first thing I choose, standing there in the narrow space off the corridor, the senior wolf’s posture relaxed and expectant, their words still hanging between us like something that assumes it will be received simply because it was offered. The air feels close, heavy with the unspoken understanding that this is meant to be the moment where I nod, where I accept the framing they have prepared for me, where I make things easier by cooperating, and I let myself feel that pressure without reacting to it, because reaction is exactly what they want.
I hold their gaze instead, steady and unblinking, letting the silence stretch past politeness and into discomfort, because silence, when it is intentional, becomes its own kind of refusal, and I can see the instant t
