Chapter 251. Den of Wolves

The night is heavy and cold, spread like a vast black space devoid of moonlight or stars as silence blankets the world, an eerie calm preceding what feels like the inevitable. And in the depths of a shadowy hall, eerie shadows linger. The opulence is laced with menace. Luxurious chairs surround a long table, their polished surfaces gleaming faintly in the dimness. The gray walls and black curtains amplify the gloom, the open windows allowing the icy air to creep in, though it does nothing to quell a rising tension palpable in the space. The air, thick and humid, swirls with visible steam, as though the room itself is suffocating under its own heat.

At precisely midnight, the werewolves begin to file in, and their mere presence brings a palpable tremor to the atmosphere. Though few in number, their entrance stirs the stillness like a predator disturbing its prey.

The hall remains sparsely filled, unease hanging in the air like a noose slowly tightening. Questions flicker