The disciplinary tribunal in the High Council chamber was a masterclass in bureaucratic execution. The vaulted stone room, smelling faintly of ozone and old dust, was packed with regional elders, pack leaders, and council judges whose expressions were set in

The Annual Equinox Gala at the Grand Citadel was the pinnacle of elite shifter society. Hundreds of high-ranking Alphas, Lunas, and council delegates milled beneath glittering crystal chandeliers, dressed in their finest ceremonial silks and velvet regalia.

Yet,

The grand ballroom had dissolved into a restless sea of hushed conversations and awestruck glances, but within the immediate radius where Damien and I stood, the air felt suspended, heavy with an electric, otherworldly weight.

As Damien straightened from his dee