Page 148 of Salt Between the Wolves

Gasps broke through the silence. Someone stood. Someone else swore.

The envoy finally understood.

It was too late.

Soren crossed the distance between them in an instant and closed a hand around the man's throat.

The envoy struggled, though not for long. His eyes widened as terror replaced confusion.

The chamber froze.

No one moved, and no one spoke.

The sound that followed was horribly small—a single sharp crack.

Then there was nothing.

The body collapsed to the floor, motionless and unmistakably dead.

Silence swallowed the room whole.

Soren stood above the corpse, breathing hard. His claws remained visible, and his eyes still burned gold.

No one dared approach him. In fact, no one seemed capable of speaking, because everyone in the room understood the same thing.

The envoy had not threatened anyone, drawn a weapon, or committed a crime.

And yet he was dead.

The realization settled over the chamber like winter frost, slow, cold, and unavoidable.

Soren looked down at the body. For a moment he did not understand what he was seeing, but then understanding arrived, bringing with it something far worse than anger.

Behind him, the chamber doors opened.

Someone had already left to seek help, whether from the healer or from anyone else who might know what to do.

For the first time in living memory, the wolves of Ironfang had witnessed something they never believed possible.

Their alpha had lost control.

No one followed him, at least not openly.

Soren left the council chamber without looking back, and the silence he carried with him seemed to spread through the fortress like a shadow.

The corridors parted before him as warriors stepped aside and servants lowered their eyes, while no one spoke or made any attempt to stop him.

The realization should have meant nothing, yet it settled beneath his skin like another wound.

By the time he reached the training yard, snow had begun falling again, and thin flakes drifted through the cold air before settling upon the dark stone walls surrounding the yard.

The place was empty for once, with no warriors, no sparring matches, and no noise to disturb the stillness.

Only silence remained, and Soren welcomed it.

He crossed the yard and stopped beside one of the old wooden training posts.

The familiar ache beneath his ribs remained, stronger now than before, while the pain arrived in sharp, unpredictable waves that felt deeply wrong.