Chapter 13: The Wolves’ Council

The ancient council chamber—carved from obsidian stone and guarded by silver-eyed sentinels—hadn’t seen a full northern assembly in over two decades.

Now, every Alpha lord and lady sat in a half-moon arc, the ancestral flames flickering between them. Suspicion thickened the air like fog.

Katherine stood at the center, her pulse steady, shoulders square.

Damian flanked her, silent as a sword.

“I bring evidence of treason,” Katherine began. “Not accusations. Not rumors. *Proof.*”

She gestured, and the crystalline orb in her palm glowed. Maps, letters, and memory fragments projected in the air—Varrick’s falsified famine reports, his encrypted orders, forged scrolls implicating Graywood elders.

“This—” she held up a burned crest— “was recovered from a raided convoy carrying stolen relief supplies. Destined for the Blackmarket of Caelen’s Spine. Bought with northern coin. Paid by southern officials.”

The room shifted. Whispers turned to roars.

Then, *slam*—the door burst open.