Elara POV:
The council chamber holds the faint, stale scent of wolves who have sat in power for so long they’ve begun to mistake position for legitimacy.
The doors close behind us with a low, final echo. Caelan doesn’t slow.
He walks forward with the same measured certainty he carries through his own territory, every step deliberate, every breath steady, and I feel the shift ripple through the room the moment his presence fully settles. It isn’t loud, it isn’t dramatic, but it is undeniable. Wolves straighten instinctively, attention snapping into place before they can pretend otherwise.
I walk beside him, close enough to feel the quiet strength of him, not touching but together.
They recognise him, they always have. I’m more of an unknown.
“Alpha Caelan,” the eldest councillor begin
