She fished a scrying mirror from her embroidered satchel and pulled up her glamour-stored images. "Open your eyes wide and look carefully—whose name is marked on these territory seals?"
Three claim certificates filled the reflective surface, lined up in a row.
Under "Holder," each one read: Raven Thornwilde.
My mind went blank.
How? A territory transfer couldn't happen without my consent and blood-mark. And I'd checked the vault before leaving—every seal, every certificate was still there. Only the moon-gold was missing.
Which meant these documents were almost certainly forged. Counterfeit scent-marks. Glamour-forgery of the highest order.
But forged papers alone couldn't evict a lawful den-keeper. Someone with authority over pack resources had made that happen.
Kael.
When I didn't respond, Raven drew out a long, mocking "Ohhhh."
"You're the owner of that textile den, aren't you?" She tilted her head, feigning sympathy. "My mate already told you—I wanted this space, and you were compensated. So why are you here making a scene?"
Her lips curled. "Unless the payout wasn't enough for you?"