The flickering candlelight cast long, grotesque shadows on the walls of the Lockwood Manor library. A tense silence hung heavy in the air, punctuated only by the rhythmic rasp of Jacob's labored breathing. He lay on the makeshift bed, the venom coursing through his veins finally expelled from his system, but the battle had left him weak and vulnerable.
Barnaby paced the threadbare carpet, frustration etched on his face. "We can't just sit here and wait for the Deucalion to attack," he declared, his voice tight with worry. "We need a plan, a way to take the fight to it."
Eleanor, her eyes narrowed with determination, met his gaze. "Agreed. But how? We're no match for it." her voice trailed off, a question hanging in the air.
