The Pine Wood war room had been built to outlast sieges. Tonight, it felt like a tomb.
A map of the northern territories sprawled across the scarred oak table, bristling with bone-carved tokens for border posts and patrol loops. Torches hissed in their sconces, throwing unsteady light over four Alphas and one silent beta who looked as if sleep had forgotten him. Outside, the mountain wind combed the pines; inside, breath came hard and tight, like the room itself had shrunk.
Tristan paced first—always Tristan—boots ticking a relentless metronome across the stone. Balor stood with his back to a pillar, arms crossed, gold hair a burnished snarl in the firelight. Lefu sat at the table’s far end, hands steepled, still as he was dangerous. And Osiris… Osiris had not moved since he sat. His han
