They had spent hours that night talking about Astor's plan if someone could call it a plan at all. The white-haired werewolf was consumed by anger, a raging emotion that had been created by all of these years he had been oppressed, thrown aside, and mistreated. Now feeling like he had a little bit more power than before he wished to use it, end his misfortune. Grasp that bad weed that had grown in the garden of his heart and pull it out with all his might, roots, stem, and everything.
Nash had tried to stop him a few times, leading to the conversations being cut short and then continuing after a few minutes of silence. By the time the morning had come both of them knew perfectly well that nothing would change his war-friendly mind. It was almost as if he did not care for himself. Astor had never mentioned the possibility of something going wrong, the will to come out of this alive. All he wanted was for them to suffer, the ones who had betrayed him, broken him again and again.
