Adrian's death did not fracture Grimridge, it sealed it.
By dawn, the clearing where he had fallen showed little to the eye beyond disturbed earth and dark stains already drying into stone, yet every wolf in the territory carried the memory with perfect clarity.
The account had moved through the pack house before sunrise, not in excited whispers and not with the kind of exaggeration wolves sometimes added when violence had to be made larger to feel meaningful. No embellishment was needed.
Adrian had forced breach inside territory, returned after exile, spilled pack blood, and raised his hand against the Alpha's mate. Cassian had answered him in the old way, openly, finally, and without apology. That was enough.
Sable felt the difference the moment she entered the main hall.
No one looked through her. No one studied her with that old mixture of contempt, curiosity, and opportunistic interest that had followed her for most of her life in Grimridge.
