The simple, broken invitation to share a meal had been the catalyst the Vanguard desperately needed.
That evening in the master bedroom, the terrifying Alpha Kings had sat on the floor around the modern table, quietly eating winter broth and glazed ribs while Roxy held her newborn son.
It wasn't a cure for the massive, bleeding void in their pack, but it was a collective, unspoken vow to survive.
Exactly one week later, the Matriarch of the Iron-Wood finally stood on her own two feet.
She was still exhausted, and the phantom weight of her grief was a permanent, suffocating cloak over her shoulders, but she refused to remain confined to the royal suite any longer.
She needed closure. The Fox King deserved a farewell that would echo through the very foundations of the Beastworld.
