Vivian's POV
Something's not right.
I'm hiding in the bedroom, pacing around with my arms crossed, like an ant trapped in a hot pot with no way out.
Ever since I encountered that mysterious man in the garden – no, I should now call him Albert – my mind has been in turmoil.
He's definitely not a messenger for the rogues, or more accurately, not a werewolf at all. I bit my lip, recalling his appearance and that peculiar scent. It was a chilling, somewhat sweet smell, mixed with the stale stench of old blood. It didn't have the warmth and vitality that werewolves possess.
It's... I clutch the hem of my robe, my mind racing back to the knowledge my master once imparted to me. Suddenly, a memory strikes me.
