Madison sat in her Honda Civic outside Mel's 24-hour diner, staring at her hands like they belonged to a stranger.
Three hours and seventeen minutes. That's how long she'd been parked under the flickering neon sign, unable to force herself to go inside, unable to drive home, unable to do anything but replay the warehouse scene in an endless loop until it felt like watching someone else's nightmare on repeat.
Normal people didn't glow with silver light that could melt metal. Normal people didn't throw trained operatives through concrete walls like they were made of paper. Normal people didn't move faster than the eye could track or coordinate attacks through what looked like telepathy.
But Kai did. Aria did.
Which meant they weren't normal people at all.
"Werewolves," she whispered to the empty car, testing how the word tasted. Like something from late-night horror movies or the paranormal romance novels she'd hidden under her textbooks in college.
