Neutral ground did not belong to anyone, and that was precisely why it mattered.
The valley lay low between two rising ridges, old oak trees bending inward as if guarding something that had outlived generations of wolves who had tried to claim it. No scent markers clung to the trunks. No patrol paths cut clean lines through the undergrowth. Even the air felt suspended, neither Grimridge nor Black Hollow, but something watchful and impartial.
Cassian arrived first. Not because he was eager. Because he did not arrive second.
Four of his strongest warriors stood behind him at controlled distance, evenly spaced, not rigid but aligned. None shifted. None spoke. Their presence was quiet assurance rather than intimidation. Sable stood at Cassian's side.
Her shoulder had healed enough to move without visible strain, though she still felt the faint pull when she rolled it backward. She did not favor it. She did not need to.
