A standoff had gripped the ballroom. Groups of people stared each other down, caught in a spiral of mistrust and suspicion.
No one knew who was lying, who held the cards, or whether this entire scenario was some grand machination. If it was, then what was its purpose?
As nobles long steeped in a mire of schemes and counterplots, their minds whirred into overdrive, unraveling conspiratorial threads like cats chasing shadows.
Only one thing was certain. There were murderous beastkin among the guests, and no one could tell who was who.
To Lugh, the level of firepower the Canines had unveiled was staggering. It was too precise, too coordinated. He began to suspect their origins ran deeper than simple mercenary work.
The beastkin weren't the problem.
Thanks to his in-depth understanding of transformation magic, and the Mawglass' uncanny ability to lay all things bare, he could spot them easily, even in thick traffic.
