The atmosphere in the living room of Mourning Manor that night felt colder than usual. The light from the large fireplace in the corner of the room seemed to dim, as if it were unable to banish the chill that permeated every inch of the space. Gillian stood frozen near the massive window overlooking the forest, staring into the darkness outside with a vacant gaze. His hands were clenched tightly behind his back, his knuckles white from suppressing a fury that threatened to erupt at any moment. He had just received a report from his subordinates that the target he was supposed to execute tonight had successfully slipped out of their grasp.
Before him, three of Gillian's subordinates knelt with their heads bowed low. They were young, usually sharp enforcers, but now they trembled violentl
