Elena’s POV
Dawn arrives without rcy, dragging from restless sleep before my alarm has the chance to scream. My body feels coiled tight, like a spring wound too many tis, and my wolf paces beneath my skin with an energy that has nothing to do with danger and everything to do with the storm I can feel building on the horizon.
This morning tastes like reckoning.
I force myself through the familiar ritual of preparation, each movent deliberate and controlled. The shower water runs hotter than necessary, steam fogging the mirrors while I scrub away the lingering fragnts of dreams that felt more like warnings. My toothbrush works overti against enal that doesn’t deserve the punishnt, but the sharp mint helps clear the fog from my brain.
Clothing becos armor today. I select pieces that whisper authority without shouting desperation, fabrics that command respect in boardrooms where power plays dress themselves up as policy discussions. My hair gets pulled back severely, every strand in its place, because loose ends invite comntary I don’t have patience for.
The tablet glows with urgent notifications the mont my fingers brush the screen.
Council summons. Official capacity. Imdiate attendance required.
My stomach drops even though I saw this coming from miles away. The ssages that have been flooding my private channels don’t stay private forever, and when secrets start bleeding into daylight, people in positions of comfort get nervous.
I find Asher in the kitchen, already dressed for battle himself, his coffee mug cradled between hands that look steady but carry tension in the knuckles.
"They called the eting," he says without looking up.
"They did."
"How ugly is this going to get."
"Ugly enough that they want in the room where they can watch my face when they start swinging."
His jaw works silently for a mont before he nods. "They’re running scared."
"They’re losing control of the story," I correct, reaching for the bread to make toast I don’t want but know I’ll need later.
The walk through the council wing stretches longer than physics should allow, each corridor whispering with conversations that die the mont I appear. Guards offer respectful nods that carry weight behind them, the kind of acknowledgnt that says everyone knows sothing is shifting but no one wants to be caught speculating out loud.
The chamber doors seal behind with a sound like a tomb closing.
Every seat is filled. Every face carefully arranged into expressions of professional concern that don’t quite hide the calculation underneath. These are people who have spent decades perfecting the art of looking reasonable while dismantling threats to their comfort.
I take my seat without ceremony, hands resting loose on the polished table, spine straight but not rigid. Tension reads as guilt in rooms like this, and I refuse to give them that satisfaction.
"We appreciate you responding so quickly to our request," the lead council mber begins, his voice carrying the weight of forced civility.
"It wasn’t a request," I reply smoothly. "It was a summons."
The temperature in the room drops a few degrees, polite masks tightening around the edges. My wolf lifts her head, scenting the shift in dynamics, recognizing the mont when pretense starts crumbling.
"We need to address so concerns about your recent activities," another voice interjects from across the table.
"Which activities would those be."
The pause that follows carries its own ssage. They want to start confessing before they’ve even finished building their case, to fill the silence with explanations that can be twisted into admissions.
I wait.
"You’ve been receiving significant correspondence through unofficial channels," the lead speaker finally continues.
"I have."
"Correspondence that circumvents established protocols."
"Yes."
"Correspondence that contains information which could damage pack stability if mishandled."
I lean back slightly in my chair, eting his gaze directly. "Truth tends to have that effect when it’s been suppressed long enough."
The words hit their target. Several council mbers exchange glances that last a fraction too long, and when they look back at , the temperature has dropped another degree.
"You don’t have authorization to pursue independent investigations," soone from the far end states flatly. "Particularly into matters that occurred before you assud your current position."
"I’m not pursuing anything," I respond calmly. "People are choosing to share their experiences."
"Because you created an environnt that encourages such sharing," cos the imdiate challenge.
"No," I say, letting steel creep into my voice. "Because I refused to shut them down when they tried."
The distinction lands exactly where I aid it. These people built their careers on controlling information flow, on deciding which truths deserve daylight and which should stay buried. The idea that soone might simply refuse to participate in that system clearly disturbs them.
"This situation requires careful managent," another council mber says carefully. "Containnt."
"There it is," I murmur, watching recognition flicker across several faces.
"Let’s speak plainly," I continue before anyone can recover their footing. "You’re concerned that the information surfacing can’t be controlled. You’re worried that if these stories spread, they’ll demand accountability from people who have never had to provide it."
Reviews
All reviews (0)