The council chamber smells like old stone and restraint.
It always has. Even when I lived here before, even when I believed this place was neutral ground. The air is thick with hierarchy, with the weight of decisions that affect people who will never stand in this room. It presses against my skin, familiar and unwelcome, like a coat I outgrew and was forced to put back on. The elders sit in their places along the curved stone table, backs straight, hands folded, expressions carefully unreadable. Each of them has learned how to look calm while deciding things that fracture lives.
Derek stands at the center.
Alpha without question. His authority is anchored so deeply into the land that the walls themselves seem to lean toward him, drawn by gravity rather than loyalty. He does not need to
