The body was buried before sunrise.
No ceremony.
No council speech.
Just earth, stone, and silence.
Aurelia stood at the edge of the clearing while the last of the soil was pressed down. She did not speak. She did not offer comfort she did not feel. The pack did not look to the council for direction.
They looked to her.
That was new.
And dangerous.
Mira stepped closer but did not touch her. "They're waiting," she murmured.
"I know."
"For what?"
Aurelia's gaze remained on the fresh mound of earth. "To see if I flinch."
Because grief was one thing.
Retaliation was another.
The bond beneath her skin remained steady—not burning, not urging. It did not crave response. It acknowledged consequence.
That distinction mattered.
Behind them, low voices gathered. Not chaos. Not panic.
Recalculation.
"The council hasn't issued a statement," Mira said.
"They won't," Aurelia replied. "Not yet."
"They can't ignore this."
"No," Aurelia agreed. "But they can frame it."
