Nyxion's POV A week. That’s how long it took to stand without feeling like my legs were made of stone. The poison had left my muscles stiff, my chest sore, but I’d be damned if I stayed in bed another day. I was Alpha, not some fragile old wolf waiting for the end. So yes, I pushed myself out of bed and started my duty before mutiny happened. The council room smelled of parchment, ink, and the faint musk of wolves who’d been in meetings too long. Varek stood near the far table, leaning over the map of Talon’s territory. Aeron was on his right, arms crossed, his jaw locked in that way that told me he was either uninterested in what was going on here, or just tired. Draven, of course, looked the same as always; unreadable yet slightly intrigued. “We’ve discussed this before. I don’t get why we’re still at it. We hit from the middle,” Varek said, tapping a spot on the map with his finger. “It’s their weakest point. The flanks are guarded, but the center—” “—is a chokehold,”
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