Karl’s POV

The warehouse doesn't feel like a council chamber. It feels like what it is, a temporary fix for something broken beyond repair.

Mismatched chairs form a rough circle. No head table. No hierarchy. Just wolves sitting wherever they can find space. The surviving Elders look uncomfortable without their ancient hall. Good. They should be uncomfortable.

Mira sits between Cyrus and an empty chair, her ribs still wrapped. She shouldn't be here, but I knew she would be. Lyra is under guard ...