Windsor's POV
The silence that descended upon the clearing when Zion activated his phone was suffocating. Every breath seemed to echo in the stillness.
The audio crackled to life, distorted at first, before Mr. Sinclair' distinctive voice cut through the static with unmistakable clarity.
"This marks the beginning of your destruction. Everything you hold dear will crumble. You should thank whatever gods you worship that your parents still draw breath, because without their protection, you would already be rotting in the ground."
Sharp intakes of breath rippled through the assembled crowd. Windsor watched faces contort with shock and disbelief.
"That voice," someone murmured nearby. "It's definitely him."
"How is this possible?" another whispered.
Their supernatural hearing, inherited through werewolf lineage, allowed every person present to catch each nuance of the recording. The arrogant inflection, the calculated cruelty - it was undeniably Sinclair speaking.
