Clarissa
The grandfather clock in the massive meeting hall was the loudest thing in the room.
I sat alone, staring at it without seeing it as the hands moved wearily round the clock, repeating the same movement for each cycle. I was at the head of the long table of the Southern Core Council chamber, hands folded on an empty notepad, a folder that contained today's agenda and a cup of coffee going cold at my elbow.
The hall had been scrubbed until the marble shone; banners for each southern pack were washed and ironed, hanging on the walls on the opposite side of the room. There was a small buffet table with plenty of food.
I'd painstakingly inquired from each pack Alpha's Luna what their husband's favourite meal was and made the entire kitchen staff imitate the recipe to perfection. I'd arrived before dawn, practised my lines in front of the mirror 100 times a day, and rehearsed it in front of my mom and speech coach to make sure I wasn't being rude.
