When the strike team—Marco, Thelma, and four other wolves I recognized vaguely from the warehouse—met us at the designated breach point in the north wall, the first thing they told us was that the Council had arrived early.
"They're in the Great Hall," Marco said, his voice tense but steady. He looked different in tactical gear, less like the easy-going beta I knew and more like a soldier. "The High Council. Sibal invited them for a pre-Solstice dinner. He's showing off. He wants them to see the 'perfectly run' Coven before the ceremony tomorrow."
"Perfect," Guilermo said. He checked the magazine of a tranquilizer gun he had pulled from a buried cache near the wall. The metallic click was loud in the snowy silence. "We have an audience. Sibal loves an audience."
We moved through the sno
