Greyhaven slept uneasily under a blanket of fog.
Not because of walls or gates.
But because the Wolf walked among them.
Aren moved through the streets unnoticed.
Silent boots on cobblestones.
Eyes in every window.
Ears in every whisper.
The city itself seemed to bend around him.
Lysa and Caelis followed close.
Their presence barely more than shadows.
Tom, now seasoned beyond his years, carried messages and watched quietly.
He had learned the rules of shadows.
The Wolf did not need noise to command.
Inside the palace, Rowan paced his chambers.
The throne no longer felt like a crown.
It was a cage.
Every ally he once trusted now served Aren in some hidden way.
Even Edric had shifted allegiance.
Aren entered the council chambers.
No fanfare. No announcement.
The lords and merchants present froze.
Eyes wide. Breath caught.
They had heard whispers…
But never seen the Wolf himself.
"I am here," Aren said softly.
"Not to destroy Greyhaven. Not yet.
But to remind you who holds the strings."
Rowan, pale and trembling, realized the truth:
Power was no longer measured by armies or titles.
It was measured by fear, loyalty, and the shadows one could command.
Aren stepped closer to the throne, silent yet commanding.
"The crown is not yours," he said.
"Not yet. Perhaps never.
Obedience is earned in whispers, not proclamations.
And I am the Wolf that haunts your city."
Outside, Greyhaven's streets waited.
Silent. Watching.
The kingdom had shifted.
And no king could reclaim it—not without paying the price the Wolf demanded.