In the sanctuary, Rowan laid his trap.
The main chamber served as his war room now — ancient symbols on the walls catching torchlight, casting patterns that moved like living things. He stood at the stone table where maps and plans covered every surface, the High Priestess beside him, two acolytes taking notes with the silent efficiency of monks copying scripture.
"The Spring Equinox Festival is in eighteen days," Rowan said, tracing his finger along a hand-drawn map of the Silver Fang compound. "Every allied pack in the Northwest will attend. The Alpha will be expected to appear with a Luna candidate. He will be distracted, exposed, surrounded by politics and ceremony."
"And the girl?" the High Priestess asked.
"She stays here. Sedated. Contained. The extraction requires both the Moon
