The night in Moon’s Fang hung heavy over the city like a suffocating veil, the wind whispering through the dense pines lining the streets, carrying with it the scent of oppression and decay. From the rented flat, I watched the building where Hilda’s parents were being held. The place was a gray concrete block, its lit windows like watchful eyes, Gamma guards patrolling the entrance with precise movements, their auras heavy even from this distance.
Sigvar stirred in my mind, his primal instinct on alert, sniffing the air for any sign of danger. It had been a day since my failed attempt at infiltration, a day of patient observation, mapping patterns, waiting for the perfect moment. The guards switched shifts every four hours—two at the entrance, one on the roof, and another on the perimeter
