Elara POV:
The main dining room of Caelan’s packhouse is nothing like the main hall. That’s the first thing I notice as I step inside.
The main hall carries authority in its bones, silence shaped by rank, space measured in expectation. This room doesn’t care about any of that. It’s wide and worn-in, long wooden tables set beneath exposed beams darkened by age. Lantern light glows softly overhead, warm rather than sharp, settling instead of commanding.
The walls tell their own stories. Not trophies, not declarations — just evidence of living. Scratches in the wood, where wolves have leaned, argued, laughed, stayed.
It feels… honest.
Conversation fills the room in low, overlapping currents. No one performs, no one waits to be noticed. When my father and I enter, heads turn — curiosity f
