Mist curled through the courtyard before dawn, weaving between the stone pillars like a living thing. Lucian stood at the far end, sword sheathed but hand resting on the hilt as if anticipating steel. He glanced toward Aria, whose breath rose in small white clouds. Somewhere beyond the mist, the first scouts were returning—bearing new clues about the Blackspire infiltrators and the missing shard. Today's task was clear: root out betrayal before Silverclaw's fragile unity collapsed.
Aria adjusted the satchel on her shoulder, the weight of her notebook a comfort. Words were her weapon; facts her shield. She stepped onto the flagstones, careful not to let the damp seep through her boots. No one spoke as she approached. The silence carried the gravity of unspoken accusations, of alliances strained by suspicion.
"Ready?" Lucian's voice cut through the hush, low and steady. He extended a gauntleted hand to her.
She took it. His grip was warm, grounding. "Ready," she replied. Her heart thrummed with purpose—and with the anxiety of interrogation. She had agreed to help vet Silverclaw's inner circle, to use her outsider's perspective to reveal cracks in loyalty. It was a dangerous game: accuse the wrong person, and trust would shatter irreparably. But silence guaranteed defeat.
They moved toward the main hall, where the council awaited. Each step echoed, and Aria's mind cataloged every detail: the worn edges of the flagstones, the flicker of torchlight against ancient runes, the faint pulse of Silverclaw's magic beneath her feet. This was no longer an observer's tour; she was an active participant in the pack's fate.
Inside, the chamber was arranged for scrutiny. Three long benches faced a dais where the Alpha Council sat in semi-circle: Elara with her silver hair and inscrutable gaze; the rotund elder whose judgments weighed like anvils; and two stern advisors flanking them. Lucian led Aria to a seat at the center, beside Nova and the Crescent envoy. The remaining seats were occupied by senior captains and lieutenants—those whose loyalty was unquestioned, yet whose actions now required verification.
Elara cleared her throat. "Today, we conduct a Trust Audit. We shall question each officer present. Aria Blackwell will join me on the dais to moderate. Your human perspective and journalistic rigor will guide our inquiries."
A ripple of surprise passed through the officers. Aria cleared her throat, heart hammering, and stood. She offered a brief nod. "I will ask clear, direct questions," she said. "Each answer will be recorded and reviewed. Our goal is not punishment, but clarity."
The elder grunted. "Proceed."
Aria scanned the assembled faces—each marked with anticipation, with the tension of accusation. She pulled her pen from the satchel and clicked it. "Captain Thorne," she began, turning to a broad-shouldered man whose scarred cheek spoke of past battles. "You oversaw the provisioning of the southern convoy. How many carts departed on schedule after the Blackspire attack?"
Thorne's voice was steady. "Fifteen carts. Five were destroyed at the river crossing—three horses lost, two carts overturned. The remaining ten reached secondary storage at Stonebridge."
Aria noted the figure. "And who managed the supplies at Stonebridge?"
"The quartermaster, Devlin," Thorne replied. "He's here today." Devlin, a lean man with inked runes on his forearms, shifted uneasily in his seat.
Aria's gaze flicked to Devlin. "Devlin," she said, "your runic tattoos—do they signify specialization in logistics?"
He swallowed. "They are marks of the Courier's Circle. We manage routes and storage."
"Then explain," Lucian interjected, "how a map of Silverclaw's supply lines ended up in Blackspire hands days before the raid."
Devlin's face paled. "I—I don't know. The maps are stored in the Vault of Runes, accessible only to myself and Master Archivist Caldus."
Lucian's brows knit. "Caldus is away on patrol. He couldn't have overseen the leak. You were the only other person with access."
Devlin shook his head. "I swear, I didn't touch those maps." His voice cracked. "Someone must have stolen them."
Nova leaned forward. "Stolen implies force. No signs of break-in? No missing locks?"
Thorne spoke up. "The vault's wards were intact. No footprints. Yet the maps vanished."
A low murmur rose. Aria raised her hand. "We have boot prints in the northern hollow—Silverclaw-issued—but worn smooth, indicating someone used our own boots to disguise their approach. The same prints led to a hidden exit near the ley-line chamber."
Elara fixed Aria with a silver gaze. "Ley-line chamber?"
Aria nodded. "Beneath the Blood Grove—where the ward runes align with the earth's magic. The corridor ends in a service entrance known only to senior officers."
All eyes turned toward Captain Voss, who sat rigidly at the far bench. Voss, a lean veteran with a hawkish nose, stiffened under their scrutiny. "I know every entrance," he growled. "If you accuse me, show proof."
Aria rose. "Proof comes from matching timelines. You were scheduled to oversee patrols at the eastern wall that night. Yet the guardians there reported no sighting of you. Instead, the patrol logs show your signature"—she held up a forged parchment—"but the ink doesn't match your official seal."
Voss's hand twitched inside his cloak. "Forgery!" he roared. "This is impossible."
Lucian stood, sword sheathed but presence towering. "Impossible until it happens. Voss, will you submit to inspection of your quarters? To a rune-scan of your seal tool?"
Voss glared at him, then at the council. The elder's gavel echoed. "You will comply."
Under guard, Voss was led from the chamber. The doors thundered shut, leaving a brittle hush. Aria sank back onto her seat, pulse racing. The first officer removed. Progress—but the root remained concealed.
Elara beckoned Aria. "Continue."
Aria nodded, voice steady. "Archivist Caldus." She turned to a tall man with gentle eyes and ink-stained fingers. "Your family crest matches the defaced rune on the ward chamber. Explain."
Caldus's gaze dropped. He swallowed. "My family's lineage is pure Silverclaw—no stain of Blackspire. I carved no foul rune."
Lucian leaned in. "Yet the shard's casing bore your family's sigil when recovered from Blackspire's tent."
Caldus closed his eyes, trembling. "Perhaps… someone framed me." He ran his hand through his hair. "My sigil was on the vault key, entrusted to me. If that key was duplicated, then my crest would appear."
Aria noticed fresh tremors in his hands—either fear or guilt. She pressed on. "Then tell us who accessed your key. Who knew it sat in the archives?"
His voice cracked. "Only my apprentice, Caelin." He pointed to a young man cowering at the bench's end. "Caelin and I work in close quarters."
Heads snapped toward Caelin, whose body shook. Under Lucian's gaze, he rose. "I—I… I didn't know Master meant harm."
Aria leaned forward. "Caelin, did you ever share the vault's location or key with anyone?"
He looked at Caldus, eyes brimming with tears. "No one… except my childhood friend, Maris. Maris insisted they could help us supply those in need. They said only a small favor—deliver a message. I…" He broke off.
Aria's stomach clenched. "Maris is…?"
Lucian's eyes narrowed. "Maris of the Hunter's Circle. A trusted lieutenant."
Murmurs rose. A member of the Hunter's Circle—those sworn to protect pack and territory—now implicated. Aria's heart pounded. The betrayal was deeper than supplies or maps; it was a fracture in Silverclaw's warrior core.
Elara's voice was cold steel. "Lieutenant Maris will be summoned. Until then, Caelin is confined."
Aria rose again, pen poised. "One final question for the council: How many among us—how many officers—knew of the First Moon shard's existence and location?"
Silence. Then Nova spoke: "Only the Alpha, the Seeress, and the Archivist."
Caldus looked at Elara, panic shining. "Only three—unless…" He gulped. "Unless someone else was initiated into the prophecy."
Aria's breath caught. If someone had been added to the circle—someone whose allegiance might tilt—then every secret was at risk. She looked to Lucian. His silver eyes were hard.
Elara stood. "This audit has uncovered a conspiracy that runs deep. We will arrest Lieutenant Maris and any accomplices. We will restore the wards. And we will seal the vault with new runes—binding it to our combined magics."
The council rose in unison. Aria and Lucian followed. As they stepped into the corridor, the door thudded shut behind them. Lucian turned to her. "You did well."
She exhaled, relief and exhaustion mingling. "Trust—once broken—is hard to heal."
He nodded. "But today we took the first step toward mending our pack. Thanks to you."
Aria allowed herself a small smile. "Then let's finish it. Show me the new wards."
Lucian led her toward the spiral staircase descending into the grove's depths. Each step carried the weight of consequence—and of hope. For Silverclaw to stand, trust would have to be rebuilt on stronger bonds than blood alone.
As they entered the rune chamber, Aria's gaze fell upon the scars in the stone—fresh etchings overwritten by new silver chalk. The air hummed with power ready to be woven anew. She turned to Lucian, determination shining.
"Together," she said quietly, "we'll bind this pack—and ensure no force, internal or external, can ever break it again."
He offered his hand. She took it. In that grasp lay the alliance of mortal and moonborn, of human and wolf—sealed by mutual respect, renewed oath, and the promise of unity through adversity. And as they traced the new runes into being, Aria felt the pulse of Silverclaw's future beating strong beneath her fingertips.