An emergency council meeting had been called at the early hours of the day. The elders of Lycanthria stood in small groups, their low, urgent whispers creating a dull hum that echoed in the vaulted space. Some had their arms folded. Others paced. The air felt tense.
The heavy doors swung open. Aveloria walked forward without hesitation. She wore a simple, grey gown, and her hair was hastily braided. Galen was directly behind her, his expression alert and assessing, and Lucien followed at her right, watchful. Theron walked at her left; his usual relaxed posture was gone, replaced by a soldier's readiness.
The whispering stopped. The silence was sudden and heavy. The elders bowed their heads slightly. The four of them moved to the center of the room. Her mates took positions slightly behind her.
Aveloria had received the news at the temple just an hour earlier. Emberspire was gone.
