Chapter 27 · The Pack's Inquisitor

The council hall smelled like wet stone and old anger.

I put my wrist on the granite table and turned it scar-up. Three weeks old, still pink at the edges, a burned-out ring where the bond cord used to sit. The silver fire bowls threw light up the walls and made it look worse than it was.

Good. Let them look.

"The words," Elder Hask said. "As you spoke them."

"I sever the Black Ridge bond." My voice didn't shake. I'd practiced it in the dark for three years — nobody gets to hear it crack now. "I speak first. I speak for myself."

"Before the Alpha spoke."

"He was still reaching for the torch."

All twelve of them moved at once. That dry rustle of wool and old knees. Somebody up in the gallery hissed through their teeth.

Torin hadn't taken his chair. He stood behind mine, one hand flat at the base of my spine, thumb pressing a slow circle like he was holding a bruise in place. Two layers of wool between us and I could still feel exactly how hot his palm was.