The warded glass of what had once been a textile den lay shattered across the cobblestones. Inside, workers were stripping the place bare, clearly preparing it for some kind of bloom-seller's stall.
My brow furrowed. The previous den-keeper had signed a ten-cycle lease—nowhere near its end. How could they possibly have been forced out?
And Kael had never breathed a word about changing tenants.
I quickened my pace and called out to one of the workers. "Who authorized this renovation?"
Before he could answer, a she-wolf in fine-spun silks emerged from inside.
She looked me up and down with open contempt. "It's my den. I'll renovate whenever I damn well please." Her voice was shrill, grating against my heightened senses. "Who the hell are you to question me?"
I stared at her face.
My heart slammed against my ribs.
It was her.
The she-wolf from the scry-post.
I locked eyes with her, jaw tight. "These three market-dens belong to me. What makes you think they're yours?"
She blinked, then let out a sharp laugh. "Yours? Honey, my mate gave these to me."