Alaric woke with the faint light of dawn filtering into his room, casting an eerie glow over the dark wood furniture. His eyes slowly adjusted as he sat up, his mind instantly sharpening with the weight of the day's tasks ahead. This was no ordinary day. Today, the Nightfang family would walk into a carefully laid trap, unaware of the false information that had been spread among the werewolf families.
Rising from his bed, Alaric reached for the small table beside him, where his red cross pendant lay. The pendant glinted faintly as he clasped it around his neck. It had become a familiar comfort, a symbol of his lineage and power—one that he always wore in moments of great importance.
Just as he finished securing the pendant, the door to his room opened quietly, and Gilbert stepped inside. In his hands, he held a set of clothes—not the extravagant or majestic attire one might expect for a meeting with influential families, but something far more subtle and elegant.
