Dominic's POV
The early morning air was crisp, cold enough to bite through the thin cotton of my shirt as I moved quickly through the halls. Marcus's hurried knock on my door had jolted me from restless sleep—his only words before dragging me toward the training grounds were "Charles is dead."
I didn't ask questions. There was a heaviness in his voice, an underlying note of finality, and I already knew that whatever had happened wouldn't be simple. Charles wasn't the type to die quietly or conveniently. No, something about this would reek of manipulation, and I'd be left to pick up the pieces.
When I reached the training grounds, a crowd had already gathered. Wolves stood in muttering clusters, their whispered words punctuated by sharp glances toward the center of the clearing. Tension
