The war tent had been reset for the afternoon session, but the tension hadn't faded. If anything, it had thickened, like a storm building on the horizon.
The large entry flaps parted, and silence spread like a wave.
Nova entered, Jax and Cael walked behind her.
A delicate crown of gold rested on her head, catching the afternoon light.
The back of her hair fell in thick, silver-blonde waves that shimmered as she moved, cascading past her waist like liquid starlight.
Everyone stopped their conversations and froze. All eyes were on her. Jaws visibly slackened. Several alphas straightened. A few betas exchanged quick glances, but their eyes went back to her.
Was it possible she was more beautiful than what they remembered the day before?
"A goddess disguised as a queen," a seasoned Beta from Hollowbrook whispered, shaking his head.
Nova continued walking to her place, unphased by stares. At this point, she was getting the hang of ignoring it. She continued to her seat, Jax and Cael just behind her—nodding politely to various Alpha's and Beta's she'd met with so far. As she sat, a subtle power settled over the table. As if she was there, so now they could begin.
Twelve Alphas sat at the table. One Queen.
Behind them, advisors lined the tent walls like shadows—silent, listening.
Alpha Lunaris leaned back with a smirk, eyes sweeping the room. "Careful, gentlemen. Blink, and you might miss your kingdom getting stolen."
A few chuckled.
Bloodmoon spoke first. "We need precise numbers from the Nightfall border. Maddox, have your scouts returned?"
Wolfric nodded once, arms folded. "This morning. Five hundred foot, three dozen riders, and a black cart. Sigil-covered. Dragged, not wheeled."
A flicker of unease rippled through the room.
Moonfang tapped the table with his knuckles. "Dark transport. Like the ones from the Hollow War."
Darkhowler leaned back, fingers laced. "How do we know your scouts weren't baited?" he asked with a thin sneer. "Or paid."
Wolfric didn't blink. "Because I gut the ones who lie to me."
Redmoon, Moonfang, and Bloodmoon chuckled.
Bardoff and Blackthorne did not.
Starfang offered a mirthless smile. "So now we build strategy on threats and guesswork?"
"You voted for this strategy," growled Redmoon. "Changed your mind already?"
"I reserve the right to question a doomed plan," Starfang said coolly.
Hallowbrook, lounging quiet until now, uncrossed his legs. His voice was slow and smooth.
"You call it doomed. I call it fragile. Divide and strike—it's clever. Until the enemy stops cooperating."
Lunaris leaned forward, still smiling. "You'd rather march headlong into a trap?"
Hallowbrook shrugged. "I think we should consider a central force. Something less... exposed."
"You mean yours," Darkhowler said flatly.
Hallowbrook smiled. "If I thought myself best suited, I'd say so. But perhaps Starfang's wolves. They're... flexible."
Starfang's eyes narrowed. "We don't take orders. We give them."
"You'll take something soon if your tongue keeps flapping," Wolfric said.
"Twelve wolves in a tent," Bardoff muttered, eyes glinting. "And not a trace of unity. Ashbane doesn't need to divide us. We're doing it just fine ourselves."
Nova's voice sliced through the noise—low, sharp, quiet.
"That's the point."
All eyes turned to her.
"Every crack in this room—he poured water in it weeks ago. It's only now beginning to freeze."
Silence fell. Long and heavy. Alpha Lunaris's voice broke it—soft amusement. "I do enjoy it when she speaks."
Across from them, Beta Clawris leaned toward Darkfang, whispering something no one heard. But Darkfang's eyes narrowed.
A runner approached, pale and breathless. Bloodmoon gestured him forward. The scroll was sealed in wax.
He read. Then folded it slowly.
"Report from the western pass. Eclipseborne's riders left position last night. They've fallen back twenty miles. No alert sent to command."
Murmurs rose.
Eclipseborne responded smoothly. "A miscommunication. Nothing more." But Nova caught a flicker of something else in his face.
"Convenient," said Darkhowler.
"Convenient gets warriors killed," Moonfang added.
"Mind your tone," Bardoff snapped.
"Mind your orders," Redmoon retorted.
Chairs scraped. The tent tensed.
The room went still. Darkhowler stood and he pressed both hands to the table.
"We've danced around logistics long enough. Every hour we delay, Ashbane adapts. I propose we move tomorrow's third meeting—Tactical Readiness—to dawn. Final strategy vote to follow in the afternoon."
Heads nodded. The idea took root quickly.
"Too many loose ends. Too many secrets. We cannot afford mistakes tomorrow."
"We move it up. Third and fourth meetings—tomorrow. Dawn and afternoon."
"We'll need the scryers," said Alpha Lunaris. "And the war-seers. If Ashbane is already shifting his lines, we'll see it by midnight."
Starfang scoffed. "And if he's not, we'll have wasted our time chasing ghosts."
Redmoon turned her head toward him, unblinking.
"If it's paranoia, you'll be bored. If it's not, you'll be dead. Either way, you'll be quiet."
Bloodmoon barked a short laugh.
Chairs pushed back. The room began to rise.
No one bowed. No one smiled. The air felt tighter than when they'd entered. The storm hadn't broken yet, but it would.
Murmurs rippled as they moved to leave.