“This council,” I say evenly, “will no longer operate in secrecy.”
That gets their attention fast.
“The old ways have led too many of us to an early grave.” My gaze moves deliberately from face to face. “Milo of Glacier Crest—killed during the attack on NightShade. Eamon of Thornwell—met the same fate. Calder of Riverstone?—”
I glance at Bram.
“Died because he was a traitor to our kind,” Bram finishes flatly.
No one questions it.
They don’t even flinch, and that tells me more than words ever could. I’m not the only one who knew the council had rotted from the inside.
Still, I bring attention to the unspoken words.
“They didn’t only fall to an outside enemy. They fell because those who vowed to uphold our laws and protect our kind chose manipulation over protection.” I pause, letting the truth settle. “That ends now.”
Silence stretches, thick but listening.
“I rejected my seat once,” I say next. “That was my mistake, but I’m here now. For my pack and for this council.”
I wait for anyone to object, as they have the right to do, but the calm continues with nods of respect at me owning my responsibilities.
“Before we move forward,” I add, wanting to hear each of them claim their own seats. “The packs that lost leadership will announce who stands for them now.”
I gesture to Brynn before finally settling back into my seat.
Rowan reaches for my leg under the table, giving a supportive squeeze as she keeps her eyes on the newly rising alpha. Something I appreciate more than she knows, but I’ll be sure to show her later.
Brynn rises smoothly. She stands tall, shoulders squared beneath a fitted jacket, silver eyes sharp and assessing. Her blonde hair is pulled back in a tight braid that speaks of discipline over decoration.
“I’m Brynn Hale,” she says clearly. “Chosen Alpha of Glacier Crest Pack.”
Her gaze flicks briefly to Rowan—not fearful, not reverent, but measuring. Then back to the room.
“Glacier will not repeat Milo’s failures,” Brynn continues. “We stand for the protection of wolves, not the hunting of those deemed inconvenient.”
A few murmurs of approval ripple through the room before she takes her seat.
Next, a broad-shouldered man with dark blue eyes rises.
“Dax Rowe. Riverstone Pack.” His voice carries the weight of an inheritance he didn’t ask for, but his steady gaze says he’s ready to claim it. “Calder’s actions shamed us. That won’t happen again. Riverstone stands with this council under new terms, accepting of why our prior alpha needed to go.”
There’s no bitterness in his tone when he glances at Bram. Just resolve.
Finally, Kael of Thornwell takes his turn. Lean, green-eyed, quieter than the others, but no less steady.
“Eamon ruled through fear,” he says simply, lifting his chin. “I won’t. Thornwell supports reform and expects change for the betterment of our packs.”
I let the words settle.
Three packs, newly led. Three fresh starts.
Really four. Soon, I’ll have to return to the Solara Pack and face the rest of my people, but first, we need to secure our survival as a whole.
The council isn’t just changing faces. It’s changing foundations.
I glance at Rowan, just long enough to feel the grounding pull of her presence.
