99

ALEXANDER

The hall was so quiet that even a mortal could have heard the faint scrape of cloth against wood, the uneven breaths caught in throats. With Lycan hearing, the silence pressed sharper, every sound magnified, brittle as glass.

The air itself seemed weighted, pressing down on every shoulder until backs bent and eyes lowered. They all knew what it meant when I summoned them like this. I never wasted their time with pleasantries. I only called the pack to the throne room when something had already gone wrong or when something even worse was about to.

Tonight, it was the latter.

I sat in my father’s throne, the towering seat carved from heavy wood and iron was cold beneath my palms. I had despised this thing as a child. Even now, its stiff angles dug into my arms, a reminder of the tyrant who had sat here before me. But I used it anyway. Because every time I sat here, the pack was reminded that he was gone, and I was not.

My jaw clenched. I hated surprises. I hated miscalculation