Page 128 of Wolf's Vow

The Council chamberwas silent but for the scratch of a quill.

Sunlight bled through the slits in the marquee walls, striping the long table in gold and shadow.

At its center, Alpha Deryn sat with his hands folded, waiting.

The man across from him—older, slower in his movements—adjusted the scroll before him. Ink glistened wet and black against the fresh parchment.

“You’re certain?” Deryn asked as he looked at it.

The elder didn’t look up from their task. “I’m certain.”

Deryn took the quill, the scent of iron-rich ink curling into the air, and signed his name with deliberate precision.

Then, with the calm of someone who had waited years for this moment, he took the stamp from its dish, and as he pressed it to the wax, he glanced toward the spot where Wolfe had stood days before. His lips curved into something colder than a smile.

“Let’s see how you lead now,” Deryn murmured.

When he lifted it, the mark was perfect.

The elder smiled.

“The pack of Blueridge Hollow,” he said, voice soft but absolute, “is to be dissolved.”