The room didn't move for what felt like a long time, though it was probably only a few seconds. I stood in the center of it with my hand still faintly warm and watched Marcus Crestwood do something I'd never once seen him do in the handful of times I'd been in a room with him.
He hesitated.
It didn't last. Whatever had flickered across his face closed back over almost as fast as it appeared, and when he spoke again his voice had recovered its full, practiced calm.
"An impressive display," he said. "It doesn't answer the question of what it means for pack safety."
"It answers the question of who's been lying to this pack for twenty-six years," I said. "That seems relevant to a discussion about safety."
A ripple moved through the crowd, low murmurs, and I made myself keep my eyes on Mar
