MARSHALL’S POV
As I entered my chamber, the heavy door groaned in protest, echoing the weight of my failed investigation. The room, once a sanctuary, now felt suffocating, suffused with an oppressive aura of uncertainty. Shadows danced on the walls, casting a veil of darkness that mirrored the turmoil within my mind. I needed answers. I craved the truth.
The flickering candlelight did little to dispel the gnawing sense of frustration that consumed me. My gaze swept across the room, taking in the scattered papers and ancient tomes that held fragments of knowledge I had yet to piece together. With each passing hour, the mystery of Charles Trywolf's murder and the enigmatic ancient fang deepened, entwining themselves around my thoughts like relentless vines.
My fists clenched at my sides,
