Alaric sat on his couch, slowly sipping wine from his glass. It was nightfall, exactly one week and four days since he sent Joe Joe on a mission to infiltrate the enemy's territory.
He could feel a buildup in his chest. It was a bad omen, he knew something had gone terribly wrong, but he just didn't have enough evidence.
Joe Joe was always forthcoming in his assignments. Infact, one week was enough to receive reasonable feedback, no matter where the man was sent to.
Alaric swirled the century year old wine in his glass, he feared that he may have sent a very good friend to his death.
He could not even entertain the thought, Joe Joe was resilient, he would not die so easily. Not the Joe Joe he knew.
Regardless, he could not take the thought off his mind, he was lost for words on what to say to the rest of the elders. How could he tell them his plan had failed? Or that they had yet again failed in sending a spy.
