The city did not sleep that night, though its lights still burned as if nothing had changed, as if the quiet glow upon its streets could deny the storm gathering beneath it.
Shadows stretched longer than they should, twisting between buildings, pooling in corners where no light dared linger, carrying within them movement that was not human, not hesitant, not lost.
The air thickened with something metallic, something ancient, something that pressed against every instinct the wolves carried within their bones.
And when the first howl rose—low, sharp, cutting through the silence like a blade—everything broke.
Not slowly.
Not gently.
All at once.
"Hold the line!" Luca's voice tore across the street, sharp, commanding, his posture forward, his stance grounded despite the chaos erupting around him.
His eyes moved quickly, calculating, tracking every shift, every movement, his hand lifting to signal, to direct, to anchor those who began to falter.
