The council chamber lay beneath the oldest foundation of the university.
Stone walls.
Iron sconces.
Air heavy with memory.
Alessandro de Luca stood alone at the center of the circular floor, hands clasped behind his back, posture rigid as cathedral pillars. Above him, carved into the arching stone, was the crest of the First Alpha—an oath etched in a language no longer spoken by men.
Control before desire.
Pack before self.
The doors groaned open.
The elders entered without ceremony.
Five of them.
Silver-haired. Sharp-eyed. Ancient in bearing if not in visible years.
Alessandro did not bow.
He inclined his head.
Respect. Not submission.
Elder Vittorio was the first to speak.
"You were seen near the eastern boundary last night."
His voice carried no accusation.
Only knowledge.
Alessandro's jaw tightened faintly. "Yes."
Elder Marcelline folded her slender hands within her sleeves. "That territory is not yours."
"No."
"And yet you crossed it."
"I did."
A pause.
