(POV Raiden)
The council chamber feels suffocating despite its cavernous proportions.
Santos excused Zion and Siena. It was appropriate. I am Alpha, I am responsible for my actions, and for pack security.
I did this.
The polished wood beneath my fingertips is warm, almost alive with the history of pack decisions made in this sacred space.
I breathe in deeply, taking in the mingled scents of beeswax polish, old parchment, and the subtle musk of power that permeates places where important decisions are made.
Elder Santos clears his throat, drawing my attention back to the matter at hand—the northern refugee settlement and the documentation spread before the council members.
“Aside from the blatant violence in the courtyard, and how troubling that is of its o
