Raizel sat with the book Frankenstein had left him, turning the pages without urgency. He tried to read, but the words would not settle. His attention wandered, returning again and again to the silent questions Frankenstein never voiced.
He closed the book, letting his hand rest on the cover for a moment.
It was not a bad gift. Frankenstein, for all his careful manners, always chose with purpose. Perhaps it was an apology, or a peace offering- a reminder of the old routine, when Raizel had been content to spend hours in the quiet of the library. Or maybe it was simply habit. In this world, so much was uncertain; the familiar comforts, even small ones, held more weight.
But tonight, even reading felt hollow. He needed air.
He set the book aside, stood, and crossed to the window. Modern convenience made things easier, he had a phone now, a small reassurance for Frankenstein, who had made his opinion about sudden disappearances very clear.
He unlocked the window, sliding it open. The night outside was cool and quiet, rain still lingering in the air. He slipped out, silent as always, landing lightly on the damp ground.
Behind him, he drew the window closed. No fuss. No need for doors when he preferred the world on his own terms.
He paused a moment, letting the darkness settle around him. He didn't run, or vanish into the night. He simply walked, letting the hush of the world fill the space that the book and his restless mind could not.
...
He kept walking.
There was no plan, just the restless sense that tonight, movement was better than stillness. The forest deepened as he went, the hush broken only by the sound of water ahead. A river, maybe a cascade. He followed.
It was a peaceful noise, and for a moment he allowed himself to listen, to let the quiet settle inside him. He wondered, distantly, what it said about him seeking out rivers in woods, always more comfortable as an outsider.
He found the water soon enough: dark, quick, churning over rocks that gleamed faintly in the thin moonlight. He stopped at the bank, not because he meant to, but because something about the place felt… familiar. Uncomplicated.
He thought about wading in, just to feel the current. He'd done it, once, a lifetime ago.
But before he could step forward, voices caught his ear. Two men a boy and an older man stood on the far bank. Their faces were turned toward him, tense and wary. The old man's eyes were sharp, the kind that had learned to expect trouble.
Raizel paused, not moving.
In the dim light, his eyes would have shown red. He knew what it must look like.
He meant only to cross the river quietly, but his movement was too quick, too effortless. He landed on the stones with hardly a splash.
The old man's face went white.
He threw an arm across the boy and pushed him back, voice harsh and certain: "Run, boy! Go on, git!"
The younger man's eyes widened, confused.
"Grandpa?"
"Don't stand there starin', you get movin'! That there's one o' them devils, don't look at his eyes!" The old man's voice cracked with urgency, an edge of fear that was almost anger. "I seen 'em before. Go!"
The boy backed up, uncertain, but the old man planted himself between them and Raizel, shoulders squared, chin up.
Raizel kept his distance. He could have spoken, could have tried to explain, but what words would make sense to men who'd spent a lifetime hearing about monsters in the woods?
"This is a mistake," Raizel said, quietly, careful not to step closer.
"Don't you come any nearer," the old man warned, voice gone low. "Don't you set a foot across, y'hear me? Ain't nothin' for you here but trouble, devil."
He let his gaze fall, hiding the red for their sake.
"I'm not what you think," he said.
"Maybe you ain't. Maybe you are. Either way, you turn right around, and you keep movin'," the old man replied, not backing down. "You leave us be."
A long moment passed, the river moving between them. Raizel nodded once, then stepped back, fading into the trees. He left them there, the elder breathing hard, the boy clutching his arm, both of them staring long after he was gone.
Sometimes, there was nothing to be gained by insisting you meant no harm. Not in a world that had given people real reasons to be afraid.
The old man finally let out a shaky breath. "You alright, boy?"
The grandson nodded stiffly, eyes still fixed on the dark where Raizel had vanished.
"I told you," the old man muttered. "Them cold ones don't bring nothin' but trouble."
Before either of them could move.
Raizel was there.
Not across the river.
Not in front of them.
Behind them.
The air shifted, sudden and cold.
The boy gasped.
The old man spun halfway, heart slamming in his chest..
And froze.
Raizel's eyes glowed.
Just a deep, steady red, like embers beneath ash.
The world seemed to slow.
Fear surged, then flattened, smoothed into nothing.
Their bodies went still, breaths shallow, eyes unfocused.
Raizel's voice was calm.
"Take me to Billy's home."
--------------
Frankenstein had only just entered the house when his phone vibrated in his hand.
A single message.
Going out.
Nothing more.
No destination.
No explanation.
Frankenstein stared at the screen for a moment, then slowly exhaled.
At least he had said something this time.
That alone marked a change.
He placed his coat over the back of a chair and walked toward his study. The room was already lined with files and digital displays, everything he had compiled on Antigen.
A pharmaceutical company operating behind layers of shell corporations.
Shady financial movements.
Connections that did not align with any ordinary lycan enterprise.
The conclusion unsettled him.
As he reviewed the data, part of his attention remained elsewhere, with his master.
Raizel had not been like this before.
In the past, days could pass without him leaving the house. He would sit in silence, untouched by the world, neither curious nor distant, simply existing.
Now he wandered.
Observed.
Asked questions.
It was subtle, but undeniable.
Frankenstein could not decide whether it was recovery… or something else entirely.
He adjusted his glasses, scrolling through another report.
Then...
A sensation ran through him.
Sharp. Immediate.
His fingers froze above the screen.
The air itself felt different.
Frankenstein straightened slowly.
No mistake.
He had felt it before.
Long ago.
His voice dropped to a whisper.
"…The seal."
His expression hardened.
"Master has released it.".
[
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