The war room smelled like coffee, gun oil, and barely contained violence.
Maps covered every surface. Red lines marked Rhys's dwindling territory. Black X's showed the packs that had already sworn neutrality, or outright defected to us after the evidence drop.
Victor stood at the head of the table, shirt sleeves rolled high, forearms inked and scarred, eyes glowing steady gold. Twenty of his highest-ranking wolves waited for orders.
I leaned against the wall, arms crossed, the new silver mating mark catching the light every time I moved. My wolf was quiet but eager, like she could already taste Rhys's blood.
Victor's gaze flicked to me, heat flaring for a second before he locked it down.
"Rhys has maybe thirty fighters left," Jax said, tapping a red circle. "Desperate. Cornered. That
