Mira felt the walls closing in around her, her breath stuttering in her chest. No matter the meditative exercise she attempted, the fact remained. The minimal food she'd been able to keep down was threatening to come back up. The hall felt like a sauna now, where it had initially been a comfort to step into the warmth. There was buzzing tension in the air that only added to her nausea.

Studying Myles from a step ahead of her, she took in the rigid line of his shoulders and the way his hands were clenching at his sides between rubbing his palms on his jeans. He'd barely spoken a word to her since their impromptu breakfast had been interrupted by a young shifter she didn't know to announce that the council were on their way. In an instant, the mood had shifted. Myles' mother ushered the little girls from the table with an apology, disappearing quickly. In their wake, Myles quickly began to gather the dishes and Mira followed on autopilot, helping him with the chaotic clean-up. Then, after that, they were back in the hall and it was all Mira could to do follow.

And let herself be led to her own execution.

With Myles there as a witness.

They'd just passed the front door. Outside, there were two SUVs parked parallel to each other in the snow. A sentry was pacing below the porch, donned in black from his jacket to his boots. One of the many that she'd seen around the property. A precaution, according to Myles. It felt like far more than that.

Each step was harder than the last, especially as she began to hear the chorus of voices. There were more doors on this side of the hall; ones that seemed to be revolving. No one had told her how many were on the council and she hadn't thought to ask, when the detail was inconsequential in the scheme of it all. Now, she wished she had.

As someone approached them, Mira froze. She recognised Leandro. He was scowling, his eyes alight with rage. He didn't even seem to notice her, making a beeline for Myles. The conversation between the two of them was a series of hushed, harsh whispers; their heads bent to each other and hands on each other's arms. At one point, Leandro glanced up at her and Mira took interest in the grooves of the timber. When they broke away, minutes later, Myles moved closer to her once more, letting Leandro pass them both. The wide-birth he gave her was deliberate.

A concession made with Mira in mind.

The last kindness she'd get.

"Do you want me to stall?" asked Myles. "They can wait until tomorrow for all I care."

Mira shook her head. There was no point in dragging any of this out.

At the far end of the hall, a couple of metres from them, was a set of wide doors. It was where the noise was filtering out from. Whatever happened once she crossed those doors was out of her control, but Mira wouldn't let herself be cowered by the fact, despite her fear. If she could survive in isolation, danger lurking on all sides, then she could survive this.

At least, until the moment they ordered her death.

She'd die with her dignity in tact.

The council had nine members, all seated behind a long table that was set upon a step. There was no other furniture. The room looked like it had once been an outdoor patio and since converted into an indoor space with glass surrounds. Dark blinds were dropped three-quarters of the way down for privacy, while letting in the echo of white light from the snow fall outside.

On the far left, a barefoot shifter was standing, draped in a loose black robe. His expression was shrewd behind a long grey beard. The Elder. In his palm, he held a scroll.

Mira ducked her head, focussing on the black tile. There was scratches across the surface. She could still feel all the eyes on her, judging her every move. Was there somewhere she was meant to stand? What was protocol—

"Show your respect, petitioner."

Mira froze mid-step, Myles near walking into her. The growl that echoed in the room was from him. Helpless, she glanced behind her, whispering, "I don't know what to do."

"Kneel at the mark," he said, just as quietly. "I'll be right behind you."

"Petitioner—"

"Enough." The voice was glacial. A chair scraped.

Mira dared to lift her head enough to see in front of her. The shifter in the centre now stood, looming over the rest of the table. He was broad-shouldered, his dark hair tied pack. Across his forehead, he had a scar and his nose was crooked. He was glaring down the far-left of the table, aggression pouring from him in waves that made her dizzy.

In the presence of it, she didn't so much as drop to her knees on the circular mark just shy of the table, as she did collapse there.

"The petitioner has disregarded tradition already. It will not—"

"Did I stutter, councilman."

Stony silence followed.

Mira glanced behind her, catching sight of Myles' boots. He didn't kneel as she did.

"Get on with it, Elder, before I lose my patience."

A throat cleared, a half-choked noise. Then, "Who petitions for a place in this pack?"

More silence.

Something nudged her thigh gently. Myles' boot. Understanding dawned, and she went crimson, glad to be hidden from view. Kiva and Myles had both explained this part to her. "Mira Renaat."

"Daughter of?"

"No one," she mumbled, hoping they wouldn't push the issue. The memory of her parents wasn't theirs to tear down with their narrow-mindedness.

"Tradition dictates—"

"Continue, Elder."

"Who stands as witness of this petitioner?"

"Myles Ashford, son of Christian and Lauren," said Myles without a moment of hesitation.

"Who presides over this pack?" asked the Elder, a shaky note to his voice.

"Christian Ashford, son of Ryan and Rebekah. Hylfalk pack Alpha."

Mira's breath stuttered. How had she misread the room so badly, when it was painfully obvious? The council didn't have nine members. The Alpha was among them, controlling the room with unyielding focus. How much of what had happened had been relayed to him by Kiva and Myles? Did he resent her for all the trouble she'd caused his family in a few short days? If she wasn't terrified of inadvertently challenging him, she would have looked up to see if he was watching her with the same callous expression he did the others.

"Speak your piece, petitioner, before the council," said the Elder.

That was her cue. Yet, anything Mira had rehearsed before now was gone, leaving behind nothing but blind panic. Just tell the truth, Kiva had said. Easier said than done, when the truth would be the reason they crucified her for—and the lie was the truth they believed.

One way or the other, she was caught. The ending would remain the same.

Omitting as much detail as she could was all there was to do.

"We were attacked by hunters," she began, gratified when her voice came out evenly. "We stood no chance. They tracked us, and when they came, they outnumbered us. I barely escaped. I ran. Hours turned into days; days into weeks. I don't know if they followed, but I didn't look back. I couldn't."

"How did you come to end up here?"

"My father spoke of the Hylfalk pack," said Mira. "When I lost him, and I was on my own, it was the first pack I knew where I could seek refuge."

"That doesn't answer the question, petitioner."

Mira swallowed. Had she given too much away? What was the answer they wanted to hear?

"How did you find us?" asked another.

"My father had a map of pack lands that he kept. I grew up studying it. For emergencies, he said. I didn't understand what that meant... until the hunters attacked."

"Convenient, petitioner, is it not?" The airy tone didn't match the words. "That you were, quote on quote, attacked and ended up here? Suspicious, if you ask me, especially given the concessions since your arrival."

Mira didn't get a chance to reply to that. The Alpha beat her to it, his voice pitched to the same light tone—as if it hadn't just been insinuated that Mira was some kind of spy and insulted his Alpha in the same sentence. "Is there something you're trying to imply, Harris?"

"Not at all, Alpha," came the breezy reply.

Mira shivered, clenching her clammy hands. She hadn't even been lying yet—and still they were on the offensive.

Councilman Harris has a point." This was spoken from the left. "Where is the proof of this attack, petitioner? Nothing was reported amongst the pack councils. All we have is your word that it happened."

She'd watched her father be torn apart before her own eyes. She'd watched the only one she truly loved suffer—and they had the audacity to question an ulterior motive? As if she wasn't still suffering from the loss, seconds from splintering apart. As if she wasn't clinging to memories because it was all she had left to grasp to.

Kiva was right.

This was bullshit.

Against her better judgement, Mira lifted her head, glaring at the general direction of the table, unsure of who'd spoken. "I dare you to call me a liar."

No one said a thing.

The blatant challenge would have set their hackles raising if they were shifted, she knew. As it stood, several of them growled. Her path to her own demise already set, she glanced to the Alpha. He was seated, elbow on the table as he rest his chin on his hand. With a quirked eyebrow, he was watching her. She blinked slowly. What she expected to find was anger there, but it seemed something of respect instead. Hastily, Mira dropped her stare, that alone disorientating her more than the aggression coming from the council.

Finally, after what felt like hours later, someone asked, "Gentleman, there could be a valid reason for it being unreported, could there not? Say, for instance, no one is alive to do so. How do we not know that the petitioner was not sent to do exactly that."

He were defending her, she realised; giving her an alibi when she had nothing of her own to offer. Why?

"Say you're correct, Edwin, she's a poor choice of messenger, is she not?"

Like she wasn't even there, the question was asked. A murmur picked up across the table, broken with one voice far louder than the rest. "Who were your pack, petitioner?"

Mira froze.

The question left her exposed—and floundering. How did she name a pack that she didn't belong to? How did she know that none of them were connected to the few packs that she'd heard of?

"Petitioner, your answer is expected."

Mira desperately searched for one. Sexism sounded rampant in the way Kiva had described the pack she thought Mira had come from. Could she bluff her way out of this, using that logic? "I was never told the name. The Alpha decreed it forbidden. He said it gave us too much power," she said. "I only knew where."

Behind her, Myles made a strangled noise, as though that bothered him. How she wished she could tell him the truth. Or, at least, the partial truth.

"Who was your Alpha?"

Hesitation would give her away. Mira squeezed her eyes closed as she whispered, "Jeremiah. I know no more than that."

"Where did your pack reside?"

She said the first state that came to mind.

"For a messenger, you know very little."

Mira had never claimed to be any kind of messenger. Was it better to play along or dispute it? On the one hand, it gave her reason for why she'd arrived to this pack. On the other hand, they were right—and her lack of information was dangerous without a reason why. Which meant she had to sell that reason like her life depended on it.

Because it did.

"I knew my place. The Alpha's word was law." She paused. Getting her voice to shake was no effort at all. "He punished any who went against him. He was..."

Mira didn't get the chance to finish. Instead, she was cut off by a low chuckle. Harris, she recognised now. "Right? Insubordination is unacceptable, after all. Encourage the wrong—"

"Choose your next words carefully, Harris." The Alpha offered no pretence this time, his tone scathing. The tension was palpable. "Unless you'd like to issue a formal challenge. Then, please, continue."

"Another," said Myles, behind a faked-out cough.

Harris sputtered, stammering out an apology that bled insincerity.

"Witness, you're out of line," the Elder snapped.

Myles didn't answer, but in the quick glance behind her, Mira caught his non-verbal reply: the middle finger aimed at the Elder.

Mira didn't mean to laugh, but she couldn't stop herself. Myles winked back at her, a total opposition to the cold expression he wore.

"That's what I thought, councilman," the Alpha said, his tone mocking. "Continue with your questions."

A voice she hadn't heard yet spoke up. "What can you offer this pack, petitioner?"

Mira drew in a breath, feeling as though she had whiplash. This part, Kiva had talker through with her with in excessive detail. She knew exactly what they wanted to hear.

"I want to be a member of a strong, cohesive pack," she said. "I want to be part of the reason of that strength. I don't care what that means; I'll do anything. I won't be a burden on anyone; I'll work hard. I like kids and helping others. I could apprentice alongside someone with experience and learn their craft."

"You have no preference?"

Mira shook her head.

After that, it went on. They asked more questions, and she did her best to answer as evasively as possible. Some were curious, others passive aggressive. The worst part was the condescending ones, demanding she repeat herself; an attempt to force her to slip-up with her story.

None of the questions, she noted, were from Harris. In the moment she was brave enough to glance up, she picked him out in seconds. His posture was slumped, the lines of his mouth drawn into a scowl. In silence, he glared at her—as if she was the one to blame for his misstep.

Mira was out of breath and Myles had begun tapping his shoe by her thigh, when the Elder asked,"Are you ready to vote, Council?"

"Yes, Elder," came the chorus from the table.

"Councilman Alaric, your verdict."

"I accept this petitioner."

Mira blinked in surprise.

"Councilman Edwin, your verdict."

"I accept this petitioner."

"Councilman Gregory, your verdict."

"I reject this petitioner."

Three accepted.

Four rejected.

Harris was next. If he accepted her, it would be even.

Mira held her breath, tears pricking the behind her eyes. She knew his answer.

He waited until she met his gaze. Then, with a smirk, he said, "I reject this petitioner."

Just like that, it was over. She'd be living an alternate world where she belonged, waiting for the pin to prick through her bubble. She was grateful for every second of freedom she'd been given. Maybe they wouldn't demand her death. Maybe exiling her would be enough, knowing full well she wouldn't survive long on her own.

"The council reject this petitioner," said the Elder.

As if he need to state the obvious.

Mira clutched at the bracelet on her wrist, clinging to a positive tangible memory. She'd started to detach out of self-preservation and was helpless to stop it.

"Per tradition, the petition has one hour to vacate pack lands, else face the penalty—"

Myles cleared his throat. "Alpha, may I interrupt?"

"Go ahead."

"The petitioner isn't going anywhere."

Mira turned to Myles with wide eyes. What was he doing? The Council had decided. There was nothing to do now but accept her fate.

"Excuse me, Witness?"

Myles crossed his arms over his chest loosely, lifting an eyebrow. "Respectfully, Elder," he bit out, "I have a name. I'd appreciate it being used."

The Elder shifted where he stood. "Excuse me, Myles Ashford?"

Myles didn't rise to the bait the Elder hung. Instead, he said, "Tell me if I'm wrong, but is there not a clause for an automatic pardon?"

"Tradition dictates—"

"What tradition dictates is that there are clauses for an automatic pardon."

The Elder opened his mouth. Closed it. "Yes, there are. None of those apply here, however, Witness—"

"Myles."

"The petitioner—"

"The petitioner has a name, as well. One I doubt you bothered to remember, so I'll remind you." Myles stepped closer to her. "It's Mira. And she's my fated mate."

Had Mira not been kneeling already she would have collapsed.

A chair clattered.

Harris had stood up from the table, face twisted in outrage. "You disrespectful bast—"

"I'd be careful what you call my son, Harris," said the Alpha, utterly calm as he stood as well. "Insulting him is as good as insulting me."

Harris visibly wilted. "Alpha, I meant no offence. I only meant to defend your honour from this bitch who is tricking—"

"Insulting my son's fated is also as good as insulting me."

"The petitioner is not—"

"I've allowed you to ask your questions, to uphold to your bullshit traditions. I allowed your vote. You're done. Now, you'll listen to me and shut up." The Alpha left the table, walking around the length until he was down the steps. "Elder, is my son correct?"

The Elder shifted some more. "Yes, Alpha. But—"

"But nothing."

"Alpha," slid in Harris once more, his voice slinky, "does your son accept ownership of his fated, then? Are they cohabitating as law dictates?"

Mira bristled, replaying his words in her head in disbelief. Ownership, he'd said—like she was commodity to palm off. And law?

Myles growled. "One more word, Harris, and it'll be your last."

The Elder took a step towards the table, creating more distance with the Alpha. "Councilman Harris raises a valid point, Alpha. Your son is more dominant than his fated. Does the petitioner understand her place and her expectations? Her behaviour is a reflection upon your family line. She has shown blatant disregard for—"

"My son's fated is not the issue here, Elder. Your council have overstayed their welcome."

The table was still, a low murmur picking up.

"Did I not make myself clear." The Alpha growled low. "Leave. Now."

There was a rush of footsteps and chair scraping. A door slammed. Then, silence.

Mira couldn't process what had happened. One second she was being exiled, and the next Myles was interrupting. With a lie that had consequences she couldn't begin to comprehend. Did he know the extent of them?

The Alpha was livid.

And Myles had made himself a target for that anger.

For Mira.

Why would he be so stupid?

"Alpha," Mira managed, a weak stutter. A tear fell now. She wouldn't beg for herself, but she would beg for him. He didn't deserve to be dragged into her mess. "Myles is lying. He isn't my fated. He said it to help me."

"Mira," Myles began, but she talked right over him.

"Don't punish him. Please. Punish me. I accept the Council's decision. I'll leave the pack lands when you demand it."

"Mira, stop."

One second, she was kneeling alone. The next, Myles was in front of her, pulling her into his arms. Mira didn't have the energy to fight him, not at first. The second she felt herself calming despite herself, his scent a balm, she found it, pushing him away and standing on shaky legs.

"Don't lie for me, Myles," she whispered. "I don't deserve it."

She ran before he could get another word in.