The pack territory was only just waking. Warriors changed watch at the gates, their spears catching the gray light. Omegas crossed the courtyard with baskets of bread and bundles of herbs. Young wolves hurried along the stone paths, cloaks pulled tight against the cold.
Everything looked the same.
Only I had changed.
I buried myself in work. Patrol reports from the southern border. Winter supply counts. Ledgers waiting for my seal. I kept my hands busy so my thoughts would remain quiet.
For the most part, they did.
Then, just before midday, a summons came from the High Steward.
I knew why before I even entered.
The post in Drelantia had already been offered to me twice.
It was no punishment, no exile—only an opportunity. Drelantia lay at the eastern borders, where multiple packs met for trade and diplomacy. It was difficult, but honorable. Anyone who served there well returned with rank and influence.
I had refused it before.
Each time, I gave the same answer.
My life was here.
And once, that had been true.