The Council chambers resembled a medieval fortress more than a modern meeting place—if medieval fortresses had been designed by architects with a flair for the dramatic and a budget that screamed "we're compensating for something." Carved from ancient stone that predated written werewolf history, the circular room radiated power and tradition from every weathered surface. Massive timber beams crisscrossed the vaulted ceiling like the ribcage of some long-dead titan, and floor-to-ceiling windows of leaded glass cast fractured rainbows across the polished obsidian floor—because nothing says "serious werewolf business" like standing on volcanic glass while bathed in kaleidoscope light.
I tried not to fidget as I stood beside Kieran at the center of the chamber, feeling like a sacrifice place
