Half the pack had gathered, forming long quiet lines along the clearing. Men, women, elders, pups—faces solemn, voices hushed. Even the youngest wolves seemed to understand that this was not a night for noise.
At the front of the procession stood the families.
The alpha's family.
Beta Cyril's family.
Those closest to him.
Isaac stood there, his posture straight but his eyes hollow in a way that told everyone exactly how much strength it had taken for him to even stand upright tonight.
Beside him, Calista held tightly to a handkerchief she had already soaked with tears.
The coffin rested on a wooden platform surrounded by lanterns that flickered softly as the evening breeze moved through the clearing.
Cyril looked peaceful now.
The clinic had done their work well. The bruises and blood had been cleaned away, leaving him looking almost as though he had simply fallen asleep after one of his long training sessions.
It was a lie, of course.
Everyone knew the truth.
