The attack arrived nine days later. It didn’t come from the Moon Court. There was no silver glow, no Old Tongue curling through the air, no brittle, bone-pale summons delivered with ritual weight. It came the way my real enemies always came. Through numbers. Through ink. Through a ledger. Bertrand Aldermoor placed it in front of me on a Wednesday morning, the Voss Capital office still carrying the faint scent of parchment, candle wax, and the city beyond our windows. His usually composed Free Cities expression was tight, more unsettled than I had seen in three years. “Lady Voss,” he said carefully, “there’s an issue with the Northern Packs Restructuring Fund.” He set the figures down. I looked. And in less than five seconds, the truth landed clean and cold in my chest. Seraphina Dane had found my ledger. The Northern Packs Restructuring Fund carried the reworked debts of eleven Northern packs. Its capital came from twenty-three Northern pack families my clients. The ones who
Last Updated : 2026-06-22 Read more