With that, the day's business should have been done. I braced my hands against the table, preparing to rise—an increasingly annoying task thanks to the weight blooming under my ribs—when I caught a look from Elder MoonChild.
That look. The one that meant she was about to say something I wouldn't like. The one that always came just before the sky fell.
Fen shifted closer. Silent, steady. Not touching me, but near enough that I could feel the heat of him, ready.
Across the long table, StormClaw leaned in, his forearms braced like he expected the stone beneath us to crack. MoonChild remained composed, but her violet gaze wasn't distant in the way it sometimes was. No, it was fixed—razor-sharp—and it was aimed solely at me.
"You waited until we met without any of the other elders were present," I said, voice low. "So whatever this is—it's not for every elder."
"No," she said, calm as a sealed tomb. "It isn't."
