The Lost Heir
When she sees Alec enter, something flickers across her face—pain, maybe, or recognition of what's about to happen.
Alec moves to the center of the room. He doesn't sit. He just stands there, his presence expanding to fill the space like a physical force.
Conversations falter. Die. One by one, heads turn. The room falls silent in uneven waves as people register who's standing among them.
When the last voice trails off into nothing, Alec speaks.
"She didn't attack anyone," he says into the quiet.
An older wolf with grey temples—Marcus, one of his senior guards—clears his throat carefully. "With respect, Alpha... she threw my daughter across the yard without touching her. That girl has a concu