MAYA'S POV
(HOUR SEVENTY-ONE)
The tension in our quarters was suffocating despite the spacious room and open windows letting in the evening breeze. Lyra paced with forty-one dimensional states creating visible distortion in the air around her—consciousness expansion manifesting physically through emotional pressure that even singular awareness could perceive.
One hour remained. Sixty minutes until marked populations would withdraw from Silverpine if the territorial Council refused accountability for three murdered blessed wolves.
"Nothing," Lyra said, dimensional awareness perceiving communication channels that remained empty despite deadline approaching with terrifying finality. "Silverpine Council hasn't responded. Hasn't acknowledged demands. Hasn't even bothered to reject our requirements officially. They're gambling that marked governance won't actually follow through with collective withdrawal."
