Alpha Lir POV
I sit at the high mahogany table, the High Alpha's signed decree heavy in my breast pocket, but the paper feels like a lead weight pressing into my ribs. The grand council chamber is a blur of noise. Around me, the elders are droning on about trade routes, asset redistribution, and the immediate necessity of finalizing the Joyce treasury contract.
I don't hear a single word of it.
All I can hear is the frantic, ragged rhythm of Zara’s breathing from ten minutes ago. All I can feel is the phantom sting of her silver needle pressing into the soft flesh beneath my jaw.
I raise my thumb, tracing the small, dried speck of blood on my neck. She didn't just threaten me. She looked me dead in the eye, clad in the gold of the South, and told me the woman who loved me was dead.
Li
