The council chamber was cloaked in silence, heavy as stone. The long table stretched before Evelyn, its polished surface reflecting the pale torchlight that flickered along the walls. She sat at Damien's side, her hands folded tightly in her lap. Every breath she took felt deliberate, as though she was holding back the storm that raged inside her chest. The clash in the courtyard still echoed in her ears. Wolves who once shared meals had torn at each other like strangers. It was a wound that would not heal easily.
Damien's hand rested on the arm of his chair, fingers trembling almost imperceptibly. His face was pale, shadows carving hollows beneath his eyes. He wore his strength like a cloak too heavy for his shoulders, yet still he tried. Evelyn saw it in the way he straightened when George entered, the way his jaw locked whenever Marrow's name was spoken. Pride had carried him this far, but pride could not hold back the sickness consuming him.
