Daemon’s POV

The council hall was colder than I remembered.

Not just in temperature but in weight.

Thick stone walls rose high around us, carved with the names of alphas long dead. The air smelled of old blood, smoke, and war. Banners from each pack hung overhead, gold, crimson, steel gray fluttering slightly from the draft that always lived here like a ghost.

Warriors lined the edges of the room, stiff and silent, each one watching with sharp eyes and weapons close.

No one smiled. No one ...