The lower levels of Grimridge did not belong to the council. They never had.
They belonged to the Alpha.
The elders liked to operate in chambers with carved stone and ceremonial seating because ritual softened perception. Authority felt shared in rooms built for discussion. But the lower corridors, the holding chambers, the sealed doors and iron hinges, those were remnants of an older order, a time when leadership did not require votes.
Cassian stood at the threshold of the broken seal and did not look like a man who had seized control.
He looked like a man who had stopped allowing others to pretend they had it.
Sable watched him from a step behind, one hand still resting lightly at Mara's back while the healer checked her leg. The air in the chamber had changed again. Not heated, not charged with spectacle. Settled.
