Finally, the ledger of rewards appeared. Every wolf had been granted generous shares—ornaments, meat, and silver—but my column glowed a harsh, unforgiving red zero.
I clenched my fists, staring up at Alaric as he lingered nearby, silent and watchful.
“You’re really going to exile me… tonight?” I asked, voice tight with controlled anger.
The crystal continued cycling through the compromising images: me walking beside other pack leaders, sharing a toast, and in one humiliating shot, held at the waist as I stepped into a secluded lodge with one of them.
Alaric finally tore his eyes away from the screen and gave me a cold, unreadable look. He said nothing.
“I asked you a question,” I pressed again, my voice sharper this time. “Are you sure?”
The pack had gone quiet. Every wolf’s gaze was on him now, a mixture of pity and awe. Alaric ignored it all, stepping forward until he loomed over me. His voice was like ice scraping stone.
“Raven,” he began, each word deliberate, “what right do you have to stay among us? Every ounce of this pack’s prosperity comes from effort… except yours.”