POV: Caius

The grand hall of the Summit Center hums with restrained power as the formal opening begins. Heavy chandeliers cast golden light over long oak tables arranged in a wide circle. I sit directly across from Dorian, watching every calculated movement he makes, my expression carefully neutral while the bond in my chest pulls steadily toward Ayla, who sits a few rows behind me with Ryker and Zane flanking her like silent guardians. The air carries the mingled scents of polished wood, aged whiskey, and the sharp undercurrent of wolf politics—ambition, old grudges, and fragile alliances all swirling together.

Dorian rises when the council chair calls his name, every...