Peter’s jaw twitched as he replayed the witch’s chilling words from only hours ago.
“If your potion failed, there are only two explanations,” she’d said, her voice hoarse and cryptic. “Either the target is under magical protection—likely an artifact or a relic—or…”
She’d paused then, her eyes narrowing.
“Or there is a gifted wolf nearby. Someone with abilities powerful enough to interfere with my magic. Empaths, shadow-weavers, elemental spirits—any of them could disrupt the potion’s intent, consciously or not.”
Peter's fingers tightened on the armrest of his chair.
Across from him, Thas finally broke the silence.
“So…” he said slowly, watching his father carefully. “You think he found some special wolf? Someone… gifted?”
Peter scoffed under his breath. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“But
