The stone walls of the palace corridors whispered with hushed steps as I retreated from the council chamber, leaving my fiery speech to smolder in the hearts of the pack leaders. My ears, however, caught wind of a different kind of whisper-one that carried the weight of treachery.

In the shadowed alcove beneath a grand tapestry woven with the triumphs of our ancestors, Alpha Biansky's gaunt silhouette melded with the dimness. Beside him stood a figure cloaked in darkness, a presence that made ...