Chapter 85. The Council of Teeth

The Council Hall had no windows—only ribs of blackstone arching over a circular floor polished by a thousand years of argument. Wolves don’t put thrones in rooms like this; they put circles, so no one can pretend the blade at their back isn’t their own.

I stepped into the ring and let the hush take my measure.

Alpha banners hung from the vaults: Pale Moor’s reed-green, Sableward’s gold stripe, Stonepine’s iron knot, and a dozen more, each with a history sharpened like a fang. Shadowfang’s standard cut the air behind me: moon-silver on black. The iron spine of the east.

Kael took the place at my right. Not ahead. Not behind. The room noticed.

Marshal Syra stood at my left, armor dark as rain. Mavienne kept to the far curve, half-hidden—runes inked on her palms like quiet knives. Neris of the Hollowborn watched from a shadowed column, eyes bright, mouth unreadable.

“Luna Thessia,” droned High Alpha Varik of Stonepine, knuckles resting on the table as if h