(Back at the Hunter's quarters)
Silence settled like dust.
The footsteps faded.
The whispering attendants drifted away.
And only when Dante was absolutely certain…absolutely… that every presence had moved out of range…he sat up.
Slowly.
Still cautiously trying to strain his eyes for any sound, any movement.
He had to be very careful so as not to give himself away.
His spine uncoiled from the cot like a predator waking from a trap induced sleep.
His breath steadied itself into a calm rhythm.
His hair fell over his eyes as he leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees.
Then, with a tired, almost frustrated motion…he pressed both palms against his forehead.
Massaging.
Breathing slowly.
Trying to think through the fog.
His voice…barely a whisper…escaped between clenched teeth.
"…Come on. Focus."
He rubbed his temples harder.
Images flickered through his mind…
The long needle they were about to use on the wolf trapped inside that chamber.
