Inside the train cabins, vampires were already firing.
Silver rounds ripped through the narrow compartments, flashes strobing against the glass and steel.
The problem wasn't firepower — it was space. The aisles were tight, seats boxed them in, and every shot had to be measured.
The Lycans used that.
They rushed low and fast, slamming into the shooters before they could reposition. One vampire fired twice, then a Lycan was already on him, knocking the gun aside and driving him into the wall. Another tried to step back to get a clearer shot but collided with his own ally in the cramped passage.
Then the entire train jolted.
Not a small tremor — a violent, bone-shaking surge that ran from engine to last carriage. Gunfire stopped mid-burst. Both vampires and Lycans lost their footing as the metal floor lurched beneath them.
For a split second there was silence.
Then the whole train lifted.
Weight vanished. Bodies slammed upward into the ceiling as gravity flipped. Weapons tore from hands. Snarls turned into startled shouts as steel groaned around them.
Before anyone could process it, the carriage walls screamed and ripped apart. Metal peeled back like paper. Windows shattered outward. The entire compartment tore open under invisible force.
And in the air outside, suspended above the wreckage, was a figure bathed in deep red.
Ethan floated there, coat shifting in the wind of twisted steel, eyes glowing faintly. A slow smile curved his mouth.
"Now," he said calmly, voice carrying over the chaos, "my little puppies… how about we have a chat?"
His hand lifted slightly.
Every Lycan in the carriage was yanked off the broken floor at once, dragged upward as if hooked by unseen chains. They thrashed, roared — and then vanished.
Gone.
The train dropped.
It slammed back onto the tracks with a thunderous crash, sparks bursting outward. Dust and smoke filled the air.
The surviving vampires staggered upright, disoriented, weapons raised out of reflex.
"What the hell just happened?" one of them breathed.
But the Lycans were gone.
That was all that mattered.
Inside the damaged carriage, Amelia's bodyguards pulled her up from the wreckage. One of them — missing an arm, blood soaking his sleeve — shoved aside twisted metal and escorted her out onto the platform.
Amelia stepped down, fury blazing in her eyes.
Across the platform, the so-called receiving security still stood where they had been — unbothered.
The wounded security chief strode toward them, rage barely contained.
"What the fuck were you doing?" he demanded, voice raw. "Lady Amelia was under attack — and you just stood there?"
"Do you not want to live?" the security chief roared, blood still pouring from the stump of his arm. "Do you want to burn in sunlight for this betrayal?"
His accusation echoed across the empty platform.
It was betrayal. There was no other word for it. They had stood there. They had watched while Amelia's carriage was torn apart.
For a brief second, the receiving guards looked at one another.
Just silent agreement.
Then, in perfect unison, they drew their guns.
The motion was smooth. Practiced.
Cold steel lifted and locked directly onto Amelia and her escort team.
The wounded chief froze.
Amelia's expression didn't change, but her eyes sharpened.
Before a single trigger could be pulled—
A blur moved from the wrecked train.
Selene.
She stepped out of the smoke, both guns already raised. The first shot cracked through the station—clean, precise. One of the traitors dropped before he even understood what was happening.
She didn't hesitate.
Two more shots. Two more heads snapped back.
The remaining guards tried to react, but she was already moving—calm, controlled, lethal. Gunfire echoed across the empty platform as she advanced, each bullet placed exactly where it needed to be. No wasted motion. No panic.
Within seconds, the men who had raised their weapons against an Elder lay motionless on the cold concrete.
Silence returned.
Smoke drifted lazily between the pillars.
Selene lowered her guns but didn't holster them.
She turned toward Amelia, expression hard.
"Lady Amelia," she said steadily, "I think we need to discuss Kraven's betrayal."
***
On the Lycans' side,
High above the station, Ethan sat casually on the edge of a building.
In front of him, half a dozen Lycans hung suspended in the air, limbs locked in place by invisible force. They twisted and snarled, teeth bared, bodies straining against the pressure holding them. It looked less like warriors and more like rabid dogs barking at something they couldn't reach.
Ethan rested his chin on his fist, mildly unimpressed.
"Well," he said, "I have a proposition for you."
They kept roaring.
"I can help Lucian with his revenge," he continued calmly. "I already plan to deal with Viktor myself. So how about we cooperate?"
One of the Lycans tried to lunge midair, muscles bulging as he fought the telekinetic grip. Another snapped his jaws repeatedly, foam at the edges of his mouth.
"So what do you say?" Ethan asked again.
The only response was more growling.
Ethan's expression flattened.
"Shut up, you mutts."
His eyes glinted red.
Instantly, every jaw in front of him snapped closed. Their mouths sealed as if stitched by invisible threads. The roars died into muffled, furious grunts.
Silence.
Now they looked less like predators and more like restrained animals.
"You have two options," Ethan said, standing slowly. "You take me to Lucian… or I find him myself."
He tilted his head slightly, voice turning colder.
"And if I have to find him myself, I'll wipe out every Lycan in this city first. Consider that punishment for wasting my time."
*****
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