Power did not erupt in Grimridge with cheers or rebellion.
It settled into the bones of the pack house the way cold did: quietly, inevitably, and everywhere at once.
By morning, the halls moved differently. The changes weren't announced with banners or shouted from the balcony, because Grimridge didn't need that kind of theater. The pack had watched Cassian speak once, had watched the elders lose the kind of authority that mattered, and then they had gone to bed with a new understanding lodged in their instincts. When wolves woke up, they didn't debate hierarchy. They adjusted to it.
