John was speechless. He raised his head and looked at Vaughan, whose expression was as placid as a statue, and felt a chill and a stifling frustration rise within him.
It was fear of the other man's nature—and jealousy!
It was truly infuriating!
Ever since their first meeting, Weasley had never given them a proper look. Yes, back in the Appalachian Mountains, when the Congressional Aurors had suddenly surrounded them, the werewolves had indeed lost their composure and had a little unpleasantness with Pandora Lovegood and Isabella Rosier.
But hadn't they fought side by side afterward?
Why was he always so indifferent to them, so utterly unconcerned?
Why did he always look so composed and superior?
Perhaps it was his inner resentment, or perhaps he wanted to see what this man before him—who filled him with fear and jealousy—would look like if he realized he had made a mistake and lost his composure.
John Mir burst out laughing. "Hahaha—Mr. Weasley, our esteemed chairman, you may not care why I betrayed you, but do you really think I'm the only traitor among the North American werewolves?"
Vaughan looked at him calmly. Only after his laughter began to fade did he say, "Of course not. You can't be the only one. There are many dissatisfied with the current situation. Even without John Mir, there would be Bruges, Jack Hald, Alan Talle—"
With every name Vaughan spoke, John Mir's heart sank a little deeper.
Because those names belonged to people within the North American werewolf community who had openly or secretly supported and pledged themselves to him.
He let out a breath and slowly rose to his feet. The slightly chilly night wind passed through this unfamiliar woodland, swaying the Fiendfyre monsters around them that were "eyeing them like tigers," while also stirring