The Plan in Motion
The war room in Crimson Fang’s packhouse pulsed with tension, the air heavy with the weight of what was to come. The Moon Amulet rested in its glass case, its faint, golden glow casting sharp shadows on the maps and weapons spread across the table. The relic seemed almost alive, its hum a steady, eerie counterpoint to the low voices of the gathered warriors.
Susan leaned forward, her sharp gaze fixed on Draven. “We can’t bring the real amulet,” she said firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument. “If Malrik gets his hands on it, we’re finished. He’ll have the power to crush us and every pack that dares stand against him.”
Draven nodded slowly, his expression carved from stone. “We’ll create a replica,” he said. “It needs to be convincing enough to get Isla out, at least until we’re close enough to end it.”
Alaric ran a hand through his hair, leaning over the map laid out on the table. “Malrik’s smart. He’ll test it. He’s not going to just accept a trade without verifying what he’s getting. We need a backup plan for when—because it’s not if—he realizes it’s fake.”
Susan’s lips tightened. “That’s why we hit hard, fast, and leave nothing to chance.”
“Nothing can go wrong,” Draven agreed, his amber eyes gleaming with determination.
Despite the confidence in their voices, unease rippled through the room. Jamie stepped forward from the group of warriors, his usually easy-going demeanor replaced with a rare seriousness. “Draven,” he began, his voice steady but carrying a thread of worry. “We all trust you. You know that. But this—” he gestured to the preparations—“this feels like we’re handing over the soul of the pack.”
Draven turned to Jamie, meeting his gaze directly. “You’re right,” he said, his tone weighted with emotion. “But the soul of this pack isn’t a relic. It’s Isla. She’s the Luna of Crimson Fang. And we’re bringing her home.”
Jamie’s lips pressed into a thin line as he nodded, his loyalty clear in the way he squared his shoulders. “Then we’ll follow you, no matter what happens.”
Draven placed a hand briefly on Jamie’s shoulder, a rare show of gratitude. “I know. And we won’t fail.”
As the room emptied, Alaric lingered near the edge of the table. “We’re doing the right thing,” he said, his voice quieter, meant only for Draven.
Draven’s amber eyes flickered to the horizon beyond the window, his jaw tightening. “Right or not, it’s the only option we have,” he replied. “Malrik wants a game. We’ll play it—but on our terms.”
