Amara’s POV
They don’t announce the trial.
No horn, no summons, no formal declaration. Blackthorn does not dress its judgments in ceremony, it lets them ambush you.
I know something is wrong the moment I step into the outer yard, and the noise dies.
Dozens of wolves stand scattered across the clearing, warriors and civilians alike, their attention drawn toward the raised stone platform at the centre. Elior is already there, flanked by his commanders. His posture is relaxed, but his presence pulls the air tight, like a bowstring drawn to its limit.
My steps are slow. The collar at my throat is cool, inert and silent.
Good.
A soldier approaches me, his expression unreadable. “You’re needed.”
“For what?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer.
Of course, he doesn’t.
I mount the stone steps with
