"Our data shows that territories employing this balanced approach have experienced 40% fewer security incidents while maintaining cultural integrity. This isn't about compromising who we are—it's about evolving how we coexist."
A murmur passes through the judges.
Her words are precise, her arguments balanced, and her perspective on integration versus tradition is…
Sophisticated.
I listen, unable to tear my eyes away as she presents a nuanced strategy that considers not just survival but long-term growth—plans that acknowledge the delicate balance between preserving pack traditions and adapting to a changing world.
This isn’t just strategy.
This is vision.
And for the first time, I see Siena not as the Luna I cast aside… but as a leader who might be capable of surpassing me.
Our eyes meet across the chamber as she concludes her presentation.
A flicker of something passes between us—acknowledgment, maybe. Or recognition.
She knows I see her now.
But it’s too late.
I look away first, the weight of my own failures pressing down on me with suffocating intensity.
Later, as I review the competition standings, a new kind of discomfort settles in my chest.
Windhowl and Silverfang are tied for first place.
It’s unprecedented.
For as long as I can remember, Silverfang has stood at the top. Victory has always been my singular focus—my birthright. And yet…
Windhowl’s rise feels earned.
My instincts rebel against the thought, but Horace…
Horace is pleased.
He doesn’t care about politics or pride. He cares that our mate has succeeded, that she’s carved out a place for herself in a world that sought to break her.
But I’m not Horace.
I can’t afford to be.
This isn’t just about Siena. This is about my pack, my people.
I won’t lose everything I’ve built because of misplaced admiration.
And yet…
The memory of her standing before the council, commanding respect with quiet authority, lingers in my mind, refusing to be ignored.
I’m proud of her.
I hate that I am.
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