The hallway leading to the council chambers was usually a place of reverence, lined with the portraits of Alphas who had bled for the Silver Moon. Tonight, it felt like the entrance to a torture chamber. The air was cold, smelling of wet stone and the sharp, metallic tang of an impending storm.Lachlan Livingston marched down the corridor, his boots leaving muddy prints on the antique rugs. Dan Reyes was a half-step behind him, his presence a steady, grounding weight. Dan’s eyes were narrowed, his nostrils flaring as he caught the scents coming from behind the heavy oak doors."Something is wrong, Lachlan," Dan muttered, his hand hovering near the hilt of the tactical knife at his belt. "Too many guards. I smell Thorne blood in there, mixed with the Elders."Lachlan did not slow down. "Let them be there. I want them to look me in the eye while I tell them to rot."They reached the doors, but they were not met by the usual ceremonial guard. Standing in their way was Cillian, the son of
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