I felt them before I saw them.
Too many footsteps for a quiet night. Too many heartbeats in sync. No one spoke, but the street around me was suddenly alive with presence. Heavy. Watching.
I kept walking.
I didn't run.
Predators don't flee from shadows—they wait for them to move.
They didn't get closer. Not yet. Just flanked me like a pack, careful to keep enough distance that anyone watching from the outside wouldn't think anything was wrong. But I knew.
So did Nyx.
"They think they're smart," she whispered. "They don't know what kind of wolf they're cornering."
I turned the next corner and stepped into the alley behind the old diner. Dim yellow light buzzed above the service door, casting long, tired shadows on the cracked pavement. I stopped beneath it and let them catch up.
Two shapes came into view first. Then three more. Then him.
He wasn't someone I recognized. That fact alone put me on edge.
He had the kind of face that made you wonder if you'd seen it in a dream—or a nightmare. Handsome in the way broken glass was beautiful. Cold eyes, almost silver in the dim light, and sharp cheekbones like they'd been cut by wind. His dark coat fit too well to be cheap, but it had seen blood. Not fresh—but not old either. There was something meticulous about him—like everything from his trimmed beard to his scuffed boots was intentional.
He didn't speak right away. Just gave a little smirk, like he'd been looking forward to this. His crew stayed back, forming a loose circle around me—close enough to block the exits, far enough to pretend they weren't the trap.
"Evening," he said.
I raised an eyebrow. "So this is the part where you threaten me in a back alley?"
He chuckled. "Threaten you? Nah. I came to talk."
"Funny. People who show up in packs don't usually talk."
He tilted his head. "Can't be too careful, can we?"
I stayed still. Every muscle poised, every nerve tuned to the rhythm of danger humming under my skin.
"He's cocky," Nyx muttered. "I don't like him."
"Let's cut to it," I said. "You've been circling me for two blocks. You want something."
The guy stepped forward, just enough to draw the flickering light across his face again. The quiet menace in him wasn't about bulk or weapons—it was something colder. Like he'd stripped the softness from his soul just to survive and liked how it felt.
"We know what you are," he said, voice casual like it was small talk.
I didn't blink. "Do you."
"Oh, yeah. We've been watching since the warehouse. Watching you since your little stunt with Viko." His grin widened. "You really tore him up. There wasn't much left of his spine, you know."
"Should've stayed out of my way."
"No complaints from us. Actually, it impressed someone. Higher up."
I crossed my arms. "You're not here to kill me."
"Nope."
"Then what?"
"We want you in."
I frowned. "In what?"
"Our crew. Our operation. Our city. You've already made your mark. Why not make it official?"
I laughed once. Bitter and sharp. "You show up with half a firing squad and think I'd join you?"
"It's not a threat," he said quickly. "It's an offer. You're powerful. We've got eyes in places that matter. Judges. Inspectors. We're the ones who filed that lovely little land complaint about your shelter."
"You're the reason Mira might lose her bed."
He shrugged. "Collateral. We can drop it. Wipe it clean. No more legal pressure. No more eyes on you."
I stared at him. "And in exchange?"
"You work with us. Use your... talents." He paused. "Your real ones. We help each other. You'll be protected. And the shelter stays untouched."
Behind him, one of the crew shifted—twitchy, jumpy. Afraid of me. Good.
"You want me to sell myself to save the people I care about," I said flatly.
"I want you to thrive. You're not meant to play protector to a bunch of runaways. You're a predator. We see that. You need this."
I could feel Nyx pressing against the inside of my skull now, barely contained.
"Say no."
"I said no before you finished your pitch," I growled.
The man's smile flickered.
"You think you're better than us?" he asked.
"No," I said. "I think you're stupid enough to corner something that bites."
His crew shifted nervously. One of them reached for his coat.
"You try to force me," I said calmly, "and we'll see how many of you walk away."
He raised both hands, stepping back. "No need for claws, sweetheart. You've got the number."
From his coat, he pulled a small black card and flicked it at my feet.
Same as before. No name. Just that fang-crowned symbol.
"You change your mind," he said, "call."
They backed off slowly, slipping into the night like smoke—leaving the card behind like a ticking bomb.
I Didn't move.
Just stood there in the buzzing light, Nyx breathing slow and low in the corners of my mind.
"They know."
"I know."
"They think you're like them."
I smiled, cold and sharp.
"I'm worse."