By the time they reached the safehouse, the forest had given way to rolling hills and abandoned farmland. The old stone building rose like a relic from another age, its roof heavy with moss, its windows boarded in a way that looked less protective and more secretive.
Adrian killed the engine and stepped out first, scanning the area. Elara followed, clutching her jacket tighter against the sharp night air. The only sound was the wind rattling through the skeletal branches.
The heavy front door creaked open, revealing a tall man with salt-and-pepper hair and a face carved from years of violence. He was dressed in a worn leather coat, but his eyes — cold and sharp — went straight to Elara.
"Adrian," the man said, voice low. "You brought trouble to my door."
"She's under my protection," Adrian replied flatly. "We'll stay one night. No more."
The man's gaze lingered on Elara, his nostrils flaring slightly as though he were scenting the air. His expression shifted — not surprise, not quite recognition, but something darker. "Come in. Quickly."
Inside, the house smelled faintly of gun oil and old wood. The walls were lined with dusty books and hunting trophies, but every table and shelf carried the weight of hidden weapons.
The man introduced himself only as Silas. He led them into a back room with a low-burning fireplace and poured whiskey into two glasses — one for Adrian, one for himself. Elara was given tea she didn't drink.
Silas sat, eyes on Adrian. "Do you know what she is?"
Elara stiffened. "Excuse me—"
"She's human," Adrian cut in, his voice calm but hard.
Silas gave a dry, humorless laugh. "If she were just human, the pack wouldn't have risked open territory to hunt her. And I wouldn't be smelling the Moon in her veins."
Elara's heart skipped. "The Moon—?"
"Enough." Adrian's voice was sharp enough to cut the air. "No names. Not here."
Silas leaned back, but his eyes stayed on Elara like a hunter marking prey. "You can hide her in shadows, Adrian. But shadows have teeth."
Adrian stood abruptly. "We'll leave at first light."
As the men spoke in tense fragments, Elara's gaze wandered — and she noticed it.
A figure, barely visible through the cracked curtain across the room, watching from outside.
She turned sharply, but it was gone.
Later that night, Adrian fell asleep in a chair by the fire, still in his clothes. Elara lay awake on the couch, listening to the deep groan of the wind against the walls. She could still feel that prickling sensation — like unseen eyes pressed against her skin.
She rose quietly, stepping toward the window. The night outside was black, but when she leaned closer, she saw them.
Not one pair of glowing eyes. Not two.
Dozens.
All watching the house.
And somewhere deep in the shadows, she swore she saw the shape of a man, smiling.