Elara had barely crossed the threshold of the council courtyard before she felt the shift.
Whispers, sharp as daggers.
Eyes, sharper still.
She was no stranger to being watched. But this—this was different. This was no longer fear or awe. This was scrutiny.
Judgment.
The kind that crackled like dry wood before a wildfire.
She walked between Kael and Riven, sunlight glinting off the polished stone as dozens of pack leaders, warriors, emissaries, and nobles gathered in the open court for the High Moon Oath Ceremony. It was meant to solidify her position as Peacekeeper—not yet Luna, but something greater. Something older.
But they weren't looking at her power.
They were looking at them.
The way Kael's fingers brushed her back as he walked. The way Riven's shadow never left her side. The subtle—and not-so-subtle—claims of presence and protection.
They saw what had happened behind her closed doors.
And they were terrified of what it meant.
