<h4>Chapter 213: A Coincidental Piece of Information</h4>


    <strong><i>(Third Person).</i></strong>


    Duskmoor’s cityscape gleamed under thete morning sun—polished roadways humming with activity.


    Despite the modern veneer, Dennis saw through it all. Underneath the progress and ss facades lies a darker skeleton — one built on secrets, corruption, and blood.


    He lounged in the driver’s seat of a ck SUV, parked at the far end of the government district.


    His eyes drifted to the enormous municipal building that towered above the street — clean, stately, impressive. A lie, just like its mayor.


    Inside that building, Jeffery was attending a scheduled meeting with Mayor Brackham’s ’public task force’—a gathering supposedly created to discuss safety measures against the rise in ck market kidnappings and illegal trafficking.


    But Dennis already knew the truth. Everyone in Draven’s inner circle did.


    Brackham wasn’t trying to solve the problem. He was the root of it.


    After nearly an hour, the doors finally opened. Jeffery stepped out, adjusting the cuffs of his ck shirt, his face tight with restraint.


    Dennis lowered the car window. "You look like you just exited out of a cesspool."


    Jeffery chuckled dryly and climbed in. "Close enough. They spent forty-five minutes talking in circles. All smoke, no fire. They keep pretending they want to help stop the kidnappings, but they haven’t lifted a finger."


    Dennis scoffed as he started the engine. "Of course they haven’t. Brackham’s the one running the damn show."


    "And still pretending to be horrified every time a body or missing person report surfaces." Jeffery shook his head. "The lies aren’t even clever anymore."


    Dennis nced at him. "You hungry?"


    Jeffery exhaled. "Starving."


    "Good. I’ve been craving Marron’s local goat pepper stew all morning."


    Jeffery gave him a sidelong nce. "You and your obsession with that ce."


    Dennis grinned. "Come on, Jeff. You know Marron’s stew is a blessing, apart from ice-creams."


    Dennis and Jeffery drove a few blocks away from the government quarter into the older part of town—where advanced tech buildings met cobbled streets and long-standing shops that smelled of rich spices and grilled meat.


    Marron’s Shack was one of the few remaining establishments untouched by Brackham’s regime.


    A small restaurant tucked at a corner with a glowing vertical banner and the scent of firewood-grilled meat pouring into the street.


    Dennis parked the car at the car park, and they both stepped inside the restaurant.


    As always, the ce was busy—buzzing with conversations, utensils clinking,ughter echoing. Most of the patrons looked local and ordinary.


    Dennis and Jeffery imed a small table near the back. Not long after they sat, a young man rushed over, visibly nervous.


    "Mr.’s Wee. It’s—an honor. What can I get you?"


    Dennis smiled. "Two bowls of peppered goat stew, heavy spice. With local rice. Add ntains and water."


    The server nodded and fled.


    Dennis and Jeffery sat in silence for a moment, their eyes, scanning the restaurant.


    "I kept pressing Brackham’s people about the missing werewolves," Jeffery finally muttered, "but they kept shifting the conversation to human trafficking. As if to downy our own casualties."


    "They are very brainless set of people, taking us for fools." Dennis leaned back, eyes half-lidded. "And the fact that we still don’t have ess to that undergroundb? Tells me that Draven is right to hold off exposing him. We need more than stories."


    Jeffery nodded grimly. "The Alpha was right. If we make a move too early, they will cover it all up and vanish before we get any real evidence."


    Their meals arrived quickly, steaming and rich with scent. Dennis grinned at the te like it was an old friend. "Finally. Some honesty — at least in food."


    But just as they began to eat, a quiet conversation behind them caught their ears.


    "...I told you. I was driving on the tarred express road along the East," a woman’s voice said shakily. "It was dark, and I was driving back home. Then, this van just pulled up and blocked my way. They were three men... One covered my mouth. I don’t even remember passing out."


    Almost immediately, Jeffery paused mid-bite and Dennis stopped chewing. They both exchanged brief nces.


    The woman’s voice continued, low but trembling. "I woke up in a cell with metal walls. No windows. They fed me, gave me water and a bed to sleep in. They kept me there for weeks."


    Dennis and Jeffery shared another nce—silent, urgent.


    The woman sniffled. "Then they gave me an injection. I passed out again. When I woke up... I was back on the street. My baby bump was gone."


    Her friend gasped. "What? Are you saying...?"


    "They took it," the woman whispered. "My baby. It’s gone. They took it."


    Dennis looked away, jaw tightening. This was her. The pregnant woman Draven had talked about after they returned from their meeting that night, the one he saw getting abducted on his way home.


    And now, she has returned sedated, empty, and confused.


    Jeffery’s fingers gripped his spoon tighter. His voice lowered under his breath. "She was supposed to be dead, given their mode of operation."


    "I guess they only wanted her baby," Dennis corrected.


    They said nothing more. They didn’t interrupt the conversation or nce over at the other table. But they listened to every detail, every tear, every broken word.


    When the conversation behind them began to fade and the woman sobbed into her friend’s shoulder, Dennis finally moved again — scooping another bite of rice, though now the food tasted less bright.


    "This is now very clear that they are not just experimenting," Jeffery muttered. "They are not just harvesting organs, they are taking newborn babies as well."


    Dennis nodded, voice low. "I think this matter is beyond getting proof. We should obtain the proof and destroy the establishment at once. Let’s put an utter end to this madness."


    Dennis raged on, unable to keep his emotions in check. But despite that fact, he knew better than to keep his voice down.


    "We need to catch this damn vampire fast." Jeffery lowered his voice even more. "It is also dying the approval from the King and the council."


    Dennis agreed with a nod.