CHAPTER 67: Conclave In Turmoil

The Conclave chamber glittered like a cathedral built for kings and wolves alike. A ring of obsidian pillars rose into the domed ceiling, inlaid with veins of white-gold that caught the chandelier light and fractured it into constellations. Beneath, a long crescent table of black marble stretched across the hall, polished to a mirror sheen that reflected the faces of the gathered Alphas.

This was not just a meeting. It was spectacle. Each delegate arrived in private jets that had crowded the Wolfe airfield, their entourages slipping from Bentleys and Maybachs to stride across the crimson-carpeted entry. Security cameras whirred silently, recording every twitch, every raised brow. Gold-trimmed decanters of rare whiskeys lined the sideboards, their crystal catching the light. Power here was as tangible as the scent of expensive cologne, as sharp as the wolves pacing just outside the doors.

And at the center of it all sat Zaria.

She felt the weight of every gaze upon her. They saw