The forest stretched like an ocean of shadows, its gaunt pines clawing at an ink-black sky. A heavy scent of humus and resin saturated the air, punctuated by the distant hooting of an owl. Hugo advanced alone, his boots crunching dead leaves with a sharp crack.
His eyes, an odd gold, glinted in the darkness, scanning every branch, every shadow. He wasn't here by chance. A message from Alan, received on his phone at exactly midnight, had drawn him here: "Old oak, midnight. We need to talk." Hugo knew it was a trap. He could smell the scam from miles away. But he had to end it.
The icy wind bit his skin, his breath forming white curls. He reached the clearing, dominated by a twisted oak, its gnarled branches like a witch's fingers. A massive figure emerged from the shadows, followed by others. Ten pairs of yellow eyes, glowing like embers, fixed on him. Low growls broke the silence. Hugo stopped dead, his muscles tensing instinctively.
