The war council of Crescent Hollow met at dawn, and for the first time, I sat at the head of it beside Cain instead of standing at the edge telling kings what to do.
It should have felt like arrival. It felt like weight.
Nine Alphas of the coalition were there, the ones who'd marched with us Bron chief among them, his weathered face grim. Cain sat the true Alpha's seat, his father's seat, and I sat the Luna's chair beside it, and I understood within the first hour that the chair was heavier than the war had ever been. In the war I'd only had to be clever. Here I had to be *right*, and being right meant choosing which wolves lived and which the choices cost.
"The rogue army is real," Bron said, laying it out flat. "My scouts confirm it. Hale and the scarred traitor have bent a dozen clan
