The morning after the claiming, the first raven arrived.
Its wings sliced through the dawn mist like knives, a scrap of black parchment tied to its leg. Riven caught it at the windowsill, his face going dangerously still as he read the message.
"The Shadow Pack crosses our borders," he said softly. "They're demanding tribute. Or war."
Jax, still tangled in our sheets, growled. "Let them come."
But Lucian, uncharacteristically solemn, plucked the note from Riven's fingers. "Not just tribute," he murmured. "They want her."
The parchment fluttered to the floor.
A single sentence glared up at me in blood-red ink:
"Send the Omega Queen... or we will take her."
The great hall thrummed with tension as Kael paced before the war table, maps of the territory spread beneath his clawed hands.
"This isn't just about Elara," he snarled. "The Shadows have been waiting for weakness. They smell it now." His gaze flicked to Riven's mating mark on my throat.
