Elara POV:
The quiet after organising patrol support for my father’s territory still lingers in my chest.
We sent wolves out at before lunch, lines drawn and decisions made, and even now the weight of it hasn’t faded.
The room we are in smells faintly of cedar and clean linen.
It isn’t a formal chamber, just one of the quieter rooms at the edge of the packhouse, wide windows open to the late-afternoon air. Sunlight spills across the wooden floor in warm bands, catching dust motes drifting lazily as though even they’ve slowed for this moment.
I stand barefoot near the centre, dressed in leggings and a soft top, feeling steady.
Mara and Ysolda move around the room with quiet purpose. Both older than me, both deeply rooted in the pack. They aren’t here because of rank or ceremony, they’
