The Boundary Stones lay where the world thinned.
That was the first thing Aria felt as she crossed the tree line three nights later. Not danger, not fear, but absence. The forest did not whisper here. The wind did not gossip. Even the moonlight seemed careful, as though it had learned long ago not to linger.
The land was holding its breath.
The clearing was vast and circular, ringed by twelve monoliths older than any pack, any treaty, any name still spoken aloud. They were not carved so much as revealed, their surfaces rough and pale, etched with symbols that shifted when the eye tried to follow them. These were not Alpha stones. They did not recognize rank.
They recognized consequence.
Damien walked at Aria's side, silent, his presence a constant gravity she neither resisted nor leaned upon. Tonight was not about dominance. Tonight was about survival of truth.
The Council had arrived first.
