Brandon pulled over in the parking lot and alighted, his wolf instincts already attuned to the stillness that came with moonfall. He knew his father would be in his favorite cottage, likely deep in pack matters or silent reflection beneath the falling moon. Not wanting to cross paths with him—or any member of his pack-kin—he chose a different route. He headed south, moving with quiet precision, his senses alert, his aura carefully masked. He used one of the lonelier entrances that led directly to the High Luna's chamber, a path rarely taken unless summoned.
He stood at the door, his presence steady yet restrained, staring at the High Luna as she kept examining a silver-like object in her hand. The glint of it caught the soft moonlight filtering through the chamber, but he couldn't make out its full shape or purpose. His wolf stirred faintly with curiosity, but he held himself still, composed.
