The scribe's brows rose in surprise. After asking her twice more, he could only bow his head and file the Sanctuary Oath with a resigned sigh. "As you wish. Your acceptance summons will reach your scent-tag within one moon cycle. Keep watch for it."
Lyra said nothing more. She turned and walked out of the Elder Hall.
The midday sun blazed overhead, yet cold crept through her bones as if winter had taken root in her marrow. Her fingers moved across her communication crystal without pause, booking passage beyond the borders—a ship departing in one moon's time. Her only escape from this wreckage.
The confirmation had barely flashed when a howl-network alert exploded across her senses, the message screaming through pack channels like wildfire:
BREAKING: High-born Omega Lyra Ashenvale's Shameful Secret Life Exposed—Intimate Scry-Records Leaked! Suspected of Carrying Rogue Taint. Blackmoor Pack Officially Announces Bond Rejection at Dawn Today!