The council chamber stank of fear masked as ceremony. Torches burned low, shadows stretching tall against the stone walls as Elder Marcus rose from his seat. His silver hair gleamed in the light, but his eyes glittered darker still.

“The whispers have grown too loud,” he intoned, voice smooth as poisoned honey. “The Luna herself admits she carries power beyond wolf or Goddess. If we are to have peace, if we are to have order, there can be only one answer. The Old Rite must decide her ...