The sun slipped behind the trees, the veil turning daylight into a muted gray. Inside the longhall, the benches filled again. Wolves lined the walls in double ranks, their claws brushing wood with every shift of weight. Witches lit copper bowls in each corner, the salt-fed flames burning steady and smokeless. The vampire envoys sat rigid in their gray robes, hands folded, faces unreadable.
Moira struck the copper rod against the table. “Bring the prisoner.”
Boots and claws scraped outside. Eight carriers entered, bearing the copper lattice across their shoulders. Shadows clung to the frame like tar, roiling against the wards as though seeking cracks. The strain showed in the carriers’ faces—wolves sweating under the weight, witches chanting low to keep the lines stable. Ravyn’s skin pric
