Beta Delon and Gamma Phil sat across from each other inside Delon’s private study.
The room was dimly lit, the tall shelves lined with scrolls, sealed documents, and worn records of past reports and records.
A large wooden table stood between them, scattered with freshly delivered scout reports from neighboring packs. The air smelled faintly of ink and old parchment.
Delon flipped through the reports with practiced ease, his expression calm but calculating. Phil, on the other hand, leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, his brows slightly furrowed as he scanned one document after another.
“These scouts are getting sloppy,” Phil muttered. “Too many movements near the border and no clear reason why.”
Before Delon could reply, there was a knock at the door.
“Enter,” Delon said without
