Marcus's POV
"Alpha, we have confirmation. They've left our territory," Beta Mitchell announced as he stepped into the study, his boots silent against the polished wooden floor.
Marcus Dickinson didn't look up from the documents spread across his mahogany desk. Maps, intelligence reports, and detailed plans covered every inch of the surface. His jaw tightened as he processed the information.
"Our preparations are complete," Mitchell continued, positioning himself at attention. "We await your command."
Luna Britney's soft exhale drew Marcus's attention. She sat in the leather chair beside the fireplace, cradling a small painted canvas against her chest. The artwork was crude but heartfelt, created by small hands years ago when innocence still existed in their household.
