Nyx
The council chamber smells of polished stone and old decisions. It’s a place designed to look neutral. Glass walls, chrome accents, a digital panel pulsing with soft blue light, but nothing here is neutral. Every word is a move. Every silence, a weapon.
“An Alpha’s strength,” Elder Varra says, her voice smooth as smoke, “is measured by her bond.” She says it as if it’s a fact, not a challenge. The others nod, murmuring their approval into their microphones like obedient echoes.
The meeting is being recorded, of course, it is. Every breath I take will be dissected later by commentators in clean suits who have never once felt the bite of the moon in their veins. I force a polite smile.
“My strength is measured by my leadership. My decisions. My results.” I remind them for the umpte
