MATTEO:
The night bled slowly into dawn, cold and gray. The air outside my chamber carried the stench of smoke and fear, the kind that doesn’t come from war, but from something closer, something that slithers through your own walls. When the first knock came, it wasn’t the rhythm of a servant. It was urgent, uneven.
“Enter,” I said.
The young guard stepped inside, pale, trembling. His voice cracked as he spoke.
“My lord, the elders... they’re dead.”
I didn’t move. “How?”
“In their homes, sir. Throats cut clean. No scent. No struggle.”
No scent. That was the detail that interested me. No wolf scent meant no wolf hand or a wolf using something unnatural to hide it.
“Show me,” I said.
And what puzzle is that, this isn't my work.
---
The houses were quiet when we arrived. Too quie
