At the first row where the Grandville pack was seated, Edward Jones sat elegantly. He was dressed in a black, luxurious tailored suit. His eyes were deep, and on Lucille, who made no attempt to scan that part of the courtroom.
Without warning, a sharp trumpet blast pierced the air. It echoed off the walls, making hearts race and heads lower. It wasn’t just sound; it was a signal, a declaration, that the Tribunal council had arrived.
Every pack member froze, eyes locked on the tall double doors by the left.
The doors slid open, revealing seven figures dressed in tailored black suits and long, ceremonial coats lined with silver threading. Each one of them exuded cold, inhuman composure. Their presence alone demanded submission.
The moment the tribunal council members walked in, everyone rose. The commoners bowed their heads right away. Some dropped to one knee. Others lowered their eyes, too afraid to meet the gaze of such power. Mothers pulled their children close. A few people whisper
