Elaria's POV
The pack was bleeding itself dry.
I could smell it everywhere. There was blood in the straws, ash on the walls, and sweat dripping off warriors who had not slept in days. The siege pressed tighter with every sunrise as the Shadowfang and Ironclaw howls shook the walls until the pups whimpered in their mothers' arms.
We were rotting as a pack.
But I bloomed in that rot.
The council chamber smelled of fear. The elders were hunched at the long table with trembling hands as they argued over rations and bodies piling too fast to burn.
Thorne sat at the head with rigid shoulders and a clenched jaw. He didn't speak. He didn't need to. His silence was heavy enough to silence them all eventually.
But not me.
I leaned against the pillar in the corner, cloak wrapped around me, hair tumbling wild down my back. To them, I was just the Beta's daughter… frightened, delicate, and unimportant.
And that was the sweetest lie I'd ever told.
