Spring painted green over the black scars of winter.
From the highest parapet, Isabella could see fields where ash once lay and hear the hammering of repair in every quarter.
Today, the alphas would gather—not just those who had knelt to Aaron, but the rogue leaders who once swore never to step inside these walls.
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In the council hall, the long table had been stripped of its pomp.
No gilded banners, no jeweled goblets—just a plain map spread across wood, with stones marking borders and lines of trade.
Isabella stood at the head, Nick in a small chair beside her, legs swinging above the floor.
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“Speak instead of posturing," she told them.
“Share your kill, shelter the lost, try before you punish, and remove leaders who betray the code. These are not suggestions. They are the
