LANDON
I hear about the schedule before I see it.
Not through formal channels. Not through a council summary or an official memo. Through tone.
Through the way two senior wolves lower their voices when I enter the hall, through the way an elder pauses half a second too long before offering me a polite nod, through the shift in scent that registers as calculation rather than tension.
There is a new plan in circulation.
One that includes Cheyenne.
And I was not the first to know.
I do not confront it immediately.
I make coffee first.
It is habit. A small anchor in a morning that already feels tilted. I grind the beans, pour the water, wait for the drip, lift the mug to my mouth.
I do not drink it.
It cools in my hand while my focus narrows into something sharp and controlled.
Wro
