The dining hall was filled with the usual cacophony of noise, clinking utensils, low murmurs, and the occasional burst of laughter. But tonight, the atmosphere was different, laced with an undercurrent of tension. Axel could feel it; the air seemed thicker, charged with an energy that made his skin crawl.
He sat alone at the far end of a long wooden table. His fangs were more prominent than usual, poking against his lower lip as if eager to break free. His gums ached, a dull, persistent pain that gnawed at his sanity. He could sense everyone's eyes on him, some filled with fear, others with curiosity, and a few, like Michel Orsi, with seething hatred.
Michel's taunts had ceased, but Axel could still feel the heated glares burning into the back of his skull. Every fiber of his being was
