The council meeting ends without resolution.
No vote. No declaration. No apology. The elders rise one by one with measured dignity, the senior wolves exchange restrained nods, and Landon dismisses the room with a calm that feels carved from stone. On the surface, it looks controlled. Civil. Functional.
That is the resolution.
No one backs down. No one concedes. Nothing is corrected.
When I step out of the council room beside Landon, I feel it immediately, the shift in the pack’s mood not loud or chaotic, but sharper, colder, like metal left too long in winter air. Conversations resume around us, but the warmth is gone. Smiles do not quite reach eyes. Wolves hold themselves straighter, tighter, as if something invisible has snapped into place.
Layla tracks it with quiet precision.
The
