Calla’s POV
The deliberation took exactly seventeen minutes—I know because I spent every single one of them watching the ancient clock mounted on the far cavern wall, its mechanisms driven by some kind of endless magic that predated electricity by several centuries. Luna had draped a leather jacket around my shoulders, and Kane wore borrowed jeans that were about two inches too short and made him look oddly approachable instead of terrifying.
Funny how imperfect pants could humanise even an alpha werewolf.
“Stop fidgeting,” Kane murmured, his thumb tracing absent circles on my wrist where he’d casually claimed my hand the moment we’d gotten a bit decent. “They’re going to rule in your favour.”
“You don’t know that,” I whispered back, hyperaware of the dozens of ears that could probably
