Chapter 11. The Council’s Eye

The letter arrived before sunrise.

A hawk—black‑winged, frost‑eyed—dropped it at Stormfang’s gate and vanished into the clouded dawn. The parchment bore no seal, only the scent of iron and moon‑silver that made every wolf in range recoil.

Council ink.

Kalen broke the wax in private.

The message was short.

A disturbance has been registered in the northern range. Unverified manifestations of forbidden flame. The Council dispatches its Eyes. Contain before contagion spreads.

He read it twice, then set it to the fire.

The flame hissed green, then blue, before settling to ash.

By midday the camp knew. Rumor traveled faster than scent: that the High Council had taken notice, that the punishers who wore silver masks were already on the road. Wolves whispered behind tents, pretending not to glance at their Luna.

Neriah felt it the moment she stepped outside. The air vibrated differently—thin, expectant, afraid.

She met Kalen