The moment the heavy, polished wooden doors of the dining area creaked open, the rich, intoxicating aroma of a home-cooked feast washed over Jacob like a physical wave. The scent instantly pierced through the thick layer of exhaustion that had been clinging to his weary muscles, making his stomach growl with a fierce, primal demand. It was a sensory overload of the best kind—roasted meats glistening in their own savory juices, slow-simmered stews rich with aromatic mountain herbs, and freshly baked bread still radiating warmth from the hearth.
Jacob walked into the spacious room, his legs still trembling slightly from the brutal training session he had just survived out on the dusty field. He paused for a moment, his eyes scanning the incredibly long oak table that dominated the center of the room. The sheer abundance of the spread was staggering, clearly prepared with the monstrous appetite of high-ranking werewolves in mind.
