Three days later
"Has there been any lead on this Veil thing?" Alpha Magnus asked as he walked into Cyrus's room without knocking. His eyes looked a little more sunken than usual, and his voice held that low, persistent weight that only sleepless nights and growing doubt could bring.
Cyrus looked up from the scattered documents on his desk, rubbing his forehead with one hand. The other held a pen he hadn't used in the last ten minutes. He hadn't even heard his father come in.
"It's almost impossible to find out who they are, Father," he replied. "We suspect they use black magic—old, deep-rooted stuff. But the worst part is... we don't know how many of our own people are working with them."
Alpha Magnus let the door close behind him with a soft click and crossed the room. His boots thudded against the wooden floor, heavy, measured.
"And that's posing more of a threat than we can comprehend," he muttered.
