The silence of the apartment amplified each angry beat of Isaac's heart. Motionless in the middle of his narrow room, he felt a cold rage creeping into his veins like molten metal. His fists were clenched so tightly that the crescent moons of his fingernails dug deep into his palms, nearly drawing blood. His phone lay on the bed, screen cracked after being hurled against the wall a silent witness to the conversation that had just ignited his fury.
- "Fucking bastards..." he muttered in a hoarse breath, every syllable steeped in restrained fury that seemed to make the air around him vibrate.
His gaze drifted to the window, where the gray Parisian dawn barely filtered through the half-closed blinds. The rumors, the accusations, the sidelong glances all had intensified since his release from custody. The hunter community had silently condemned him without trial. To them, he was the anomaly, the suspicious survivor, the liar who invented a story about dragons to cover up his own guilt.
