By the time we got back, the den felt like a shaken beehive.
Voices overlapped in the main hall—low, tense, too quick. I caught scraps as we stepped through the door: “…children as anchors…” “…if the old alpha did it…” “…what else haven’t they told us…”
Every eye swung to Corren and me.
The hum spiked. My resonance caught the jagged edges of fear, anger, brittle hope, all slicing past my skin. My wolf wanted to flatten her ears, bare her teeth at every accusing stare.
Instead, I squared my shoulders and followed Corren down the center of the room.
Maera stood by the hearth with a knot of elders, arms folded. Bryn ghosted off to one side, casually blocking a side exit with his body. Niko perched on the back of a bench like a crow, Sela tucked under his arm.
At the far end of the hall,
