The house groaned in the wind.
Jake sat on the edge of the couch, his hands restless, drumming against his knees. Upstairs, Sarah stood by the window in her room — arms crossed, eyes fixed on the trees swaying under the moon's soft glow.
"I need to come clean," she whispered, her voice trembling.
She bolted from the room, rushing down the stairs.
"Jake!" she called.
He looked up at her, leaning forward, but didn't say a word.
"I need to tell you—"
A sudden knock at the door cut her off.
Both froze.
"Oh, look at that, someone's at the door." Jake rose quickly, maybe a little too quickly, as if eager to escape the moment.
The knock came again. Louder this time.
"Hold your horses!" Jake yelled toward the door, his voice sharper than he meant.
He walked closer, each step heavy in the silence.
The moment the door creaked open, a rush of cold air swept inside. For a split second, something moved — a ripple of darkness across the porch, like a shadow pulling itself away from the light.
And then… nothing.
The night outside was empty.
Jake frowned, scanning the trees swaying under the moon. "Hello…?"
No answer. Just the wind howling through the branches.
Behind him, Sarah stood frozen on the stairs, her face pale.
"Get away from the door," Sarah said sharply, her body tensed like a coiled spring.
"You don't have to tell me twice," Jake muttered, already stepping back. "Stupid kids," he added under his breath, turning away.
But Sarah's eyes never left the door. Her chest tightened, breath shallow.
"Carp."
The panic surged inside her.
Jake was already halfway past her, trudging toward the stairs to his room — unaware, oblivious.
Jake trudged upstairs, shutting his door with a careless thud. Moments later, the muffled thump of bass leaked through the walls — his headset swallowing him in music, shutting him off from the world.
Sarah stayed downstairs, rooted to the couch, ears straining. Her instincts prickled, but the silence that followed was empty… too empty.
Then it came again.
Knock. Knock.
Her body tensed. Slowly, cautiously, she rose. Her werewolf senses reached outward — nothing. No scent, no surge of hostility. Just the crisp night air sliding in through the cracks.
She hesitated, then gripped the handle. The door creaked open.
And BOOM — the frame rattled as two figures loomed.
Hunter. And Scar.
The air shifted, heavy and suffocating with their presence.
Sarah's breath caught.
She leapt back instinctively, her pulse hammering.
"Don't put up a fight," Hunter said, stepping inside with deliberate calm. "You know you'd lose. We're not here to fight — we need your help."
Sarah's eyes narrowed, her instincts probing. His words carried no hostility, no deception. He meant it.
But the figure at his side… Scar.
His very presence bled menace. The weight of his stare felt like claws dragging over her skin.
Sarah squared her shoulders, jaw tight.
"What gives you the right to barge into my house and demand my help?" she snapped. "In what world do you think that will ever happen?"
Scar's lips pulled into something between a sneer and a grin, but he said nothing. Hunter's gaze, however, never wavered.
"We're at the verge of war," Hunter said, his tone firm but carrying an undercurrent of desperation. "We need all hands."
He took a single step closer, then — to Sarah's surprise — bowed his head slightly.
"Please… don't do it for the pack." His voice lowered, almost breaking. "Do it for Huntress."
The name cut through the air like a blade. Sarah froze, her breath catching.
Behind Hunter, Scar shifted, arms folded, his expression unreadable.
"NO!" Sarah barked, her voice trembling with fury. "Huntress is not a child anymore — she doesn't need my protection." Her glare hardened. "Leave. Now."
Hunter flinched at the finality of her words, but his jaw tightened. "Luna… please. We stand no chance against them without you."
The room seemed to drop a degree colder.
Sarah's eyes flashed, her tone even colder. "Call me that name again, and I'll kill you."