The valley chosen for the meeting belonged to no pack, and that was exactly why it mattered.
It lay low between two ridges where old oaks leaned inward over stone and packed earth, their branches weaving a roof thin enough for the afternoon light to pass through in pale, broken strips.
No scent lines marked the trunks. No patrol trail cut a clear route through the undergrowth. Even the air felt separate from territory, as if too many wolves had once come there to bargain, threaten, retreat, and return for the ground to belong cleanly to anyone at all.
Cassian arrived first, not from impatience, but because arriving second would have meant accepting someone else's timing.
Four of his strongest warriors stood behind him at measured distance, evenly spaced, quiet, and fully alert.
