The forest path to the **Alpha Council’s stronghold** is *silent*, the trees *looming* like *judges* themselves. The scent of *damp earth* and *old magic* clings to the air, *heavy*, *oppressive*. The pack *moves* around me like a *living shield*—Knox at my front, Zane at my back, Jax and Micah flanking, Cole’s hand *tight* on my waist.
*Fuck.*
I *hate* that I need them.
I *love* that they’re here.
---
The Council’s hall is a *monstrosity* of black stone and *bloodstained* banners. The scent of *wolf* and *power* is *thick*, *cloying*. Twelve alphas sit on a *semi-circle* of thrones, their dark eyes *cold*, their voices a low, *judgmental* *growl*.
The **High Alpha**, a *massive* gray-furred wolf with a *scarred* face, *stands*, his voice a dark command. *"Lena Blackthorn,"* he snarl
