In the cabin.
The scent of melting wax from dozens of candles filled the room. The flames sat perfectly still on their wicks, not flickering even though a slight draft came from the floor.
In the center of the main room, a man sat behind a heavy oak table. He wore a deep black hood that cast a shadow over most of his face. He sat with his hands resting flat on the wood, his eyes closed as if he were listening to a sound no one else could hear.
Antonio sat down in the chair near the window, staring out at the trees where his grandsons had gone. They still hadn't come back.
His back was stiff, and his hands were clenched into fists behind him. He looked like a man ready to tear the forest down with his bare hands. He then stood up and turned around, his face hard and filled with a cold rage.
"If you cannot bring them back, I will kill you myself," Antonio said. His voice was harsh and did not waver.
