The walls of my apartment felt too thin, too temporary. Every creak of the pipes sounded like a gun cocking. Every shift of the floorboards was a bootstep.
Hunters moved fast once they marked you. No hesitation, no announcement—just an entry and an end. My fingers tightened around the knife hilt as I checked the window latch again. The frame rattled under my grip. The glass showed me a reflection I hated: pale, restless, already cornered.
Three sets of boots below, spreading out now. One toward the front door, another to circle the back alley, and the third moving to cover the fire escape. Efficient. Smart. They'd done this before.
My pulse slowed to that unnatural rhythm it always found when the game began. That edge between panic and hunger. My veins burned with the urge to run but also to strike—to prove that cornering me was never the same as catching me.
I yanked the notebook from my jacket and shoved it under the mattress. If I didn't make it out, no stranger would thumb through Travis's last words like they were nothing but scribbles in ink. Then I crossed the room and slid the lock on my door, though we both knew wood and chain wouldn't stop what was coming.
The first bang rattled the frame. The second cracked the hinge. On the third, I was already moving—knife in one hand, bag in the other, jacket pulled close.
The fire escape was my only option. I shoved the window up and slid out into the night air, boots scraping metal. Rain slicked the rungs, the city below a mess of reflections and neon bleeding into puddles.
Another shout. They'd seen me.
"Third floor! Fire escape! Move—move!"
Arrows whistled, one slamming into the brick beside my head. Dust sprayed across my cheek. I ducked low and took the steps three at a time. My breath came fast but measured, controlled. Panic wasted energy. Fear killed more than blades ever did.
One hunter climbed after me, boots clanging metal, breath steady like a soldier. Another was already cutting across the alley, positioning for a shot. I leapt the last rung and landed in a crouch. My knees jarred, but I didn't wait. I ran.
The alley smelled of oil and trash, every shadow a mouth waiting to swallow me. I cut left, then right, hearing the hunters split to box me in. Their coordination was sharp. They'd studied me.
But I wasn't the same as a year ago.
I ducked behind a dumpster as another arrow sliced the air. My knife flashed, catching the faint glow of a streetlight. The hunter who'd dropped down from the escape came at me with a short blade, silver gleaming in his grip. His eyes were cold, efficient—he wasn't here for a struggle. He was here for a kill.
He swung low. I parried hard, sparks flying as steel bit steel. The impact rattled my bones. I twisted, elbow slamming into his chest, enough to knock him back a step. He recovered instantly, blade slicing again.
"You're not walking away this time," he hissed.
I almost laughed. "You say that like it's original."
The next strike grazed my shoulder, burning like acid where silver kissed flesh. Pain flared sharp and hot. My grip nearly faltered. He pressed in, smelling blood.
A growl cut through the alley, deep and guttural. Both of us froze for a fraction of a second.
The wolf emerged from the shadow like it had always belonged there. Dark fur slick with rain, eyes catching the dim light and holding it like embers. Its shoulders rolled with muscle, jaws parting to reveal teeth meant for more than show.
The hunter swore and raised his blade. "You've got to be kidding—"
The wolf lunged.
The force of it knocked the man back into the wall with a sickening crack. His weapon clattered to the ground as claws tore fabric and skin alike. His shout was muffled into a gargle before it was silenced completely.
Blood pooled quick and dark, mixing with the rain as the wolf stood over the ruin of what had been one of my hunters. Its chest heaved, steam rising from its fur in the night air.
Another whistle. Another arrow. It clanged off the dumpster, inches from where I crouched. The second hunter had arrived, crossbow leveled, eyes flicking from me to the beast that had just ripped his partner open.
"Hell with this," he spat, and fired.
The wolf moved faster than the eye could track, twisting aside. The bolt grazed its flank, but it didn't fall. It snarled, deep and resonant, and the sound made the hair on my arms rise.
I didn't think—I acted. Knife still in hand, I surged forward, grabbed the second hunter's wrist before he could reload, and twisted hard. His arm snapped with a pop, his scream tearing down the alley. I slammed the blade across his throat in one clean motion.
Warm spray. Dead weight. He crumpled.
Silence pressed close after. My breath was ragged, shoulder burning where the silver cut ate at me. The wolf stood yards away, watching with an expression that wasn't human but wasn't mindless either. It was deliberate. Focused.
For a long moment, we just looked at each other. Predator and predator, circling without moving.
"You should've run," I whispered—not sure if I meant the hunters, or myself.
The wolf padded a step closer, head tilted, eyes catching mine. Not hunger. Not yet. Just… acknowledgment.
Then it turned, vanishing into the deeper dark of the alley as if it had never been there.
The last hunter's radio crackled faintly from the ground. A voice hissed through the static: "Report. Status. Did you get her?"
I kicked the device into a puddle and turned on my heel, knife still slick in my grip. My shoulder throbbed, Travis's notebook pressed against my ribs like a heartbeat.
The city stretched ahead, endless and dangerous, but I wasn't the only one running through its veins anymore.
The wolf knew me. Watched me. Intervened.
And somewhere above, I swore I felt the hunters' leader smile