The Dalen family estate had always felt less like a home and more like a beautifully constructed mausoleum. It was a place built on centuries of werewolf tradition, heavy with expectations and the suffocating weight of legacy. The ceilings in the grand parlor were impossibly high, casting long, looming shadows across the dark, polished mahogany floors. The walls, paneled in rich, aged wood, seemed to absorb all the warmth in the room, leaving only a chilling stillness behind.
Serai stood by the massive floor-to-ceiling window, her back completely turned to the heavy oak doors of the parlor.
She was dressed in a long, impeccably tailored black dress that clung to her elegant frame. The dark fabric made her pale skin look almost like porcelain in the muted afternoon light. She stood perfec
