He tried to shift upright, but the chains above groaned and snapped taut, dragging a cry from his throat. Pain flared through his shoulders and spine.
"You're poisoned," she added, voice detached. "Not enough to kill. Just enough to hurt like hell."
His throat was raw, dust-dry. He coughed once, then rasped, "Is this your version of justice?"
Her eyes narrowed. "No. This is the opening statement."
Ethan let out a bitter, cracked laugh. "You should've finished me. You had every chance."
She stood slowly. Not lunging—just rising like a storm on the horizon.
"Death would've been silence," she said. "A luxury. A clean end. No punishment. No penance. You wouldn't have to look at the empire you built and watch it crumble."
She took a step closer. Then another.
"You turned justice into currency. Twisted law into a weapon for monsters. And you wielded it like a king."
Her boots echoed on the concrete as she circled him.
"But now? Now you're going to help me tear it all down. Brick by brick. Client by client. Lie by beautiful lie."
Ethan met her gaze, steel behind the gold of his eyes. "And if I don't?"
Her mouth didn't smile. It sharpened.
"Then I show the world what Ethan Cross becomes when the moon is full."
Ethan scoffed, disbelief curling in his lip. "You think that scares me? You chained a wolf, not a fool. I've convinced juries a man was innocent while he still had blood under his fingernails. Talked CEOs out of confessions and sociopaths into sainthood. I could convince a zebra its stripes were mud splashes and have it apologize for getting dirty."
Anna tilted her head, smiling—feral and patient. "I know. That's why I prepared something more persuasive."
She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a phone. Walked over. Unlocked it.
And pressed play.
The screen lit up. Footage began.
It was grainy, low light—but devastatingly clear.
A man in all his naked glory—caught mid-transformation. Bones cracking, muscles twitching under fur, shifting with excruciating slowness in the narrow alley. A lone wolf. Midnight-black fur. Golden eyes. Trapped in the camera's frame, claws scraping the asphalt. Breathing hard. Blood on its side.
Then the scene cut.
Another angle. Another moment.
A different setting—dark, industrial. The warehouse. Chains shimmered in moonlight. The beast writhed, snarling—until slowly, inevitably, the change began.
Fur peeled back into flesh. Fangs shortened into teeth. Bones snapped and reversed.
The creature collapsed, trembling, shrinking down until all that was left was a man.
Ethan Cross.
Naked. Chained. Human again.
Her voice followed, steady and cold:
"His name is Ethan Cross. Defense attorney. Decorated. Feared. And this is what he becomes when the moon rises."
She turned the screen to face him.
"The world doesn't need to believe in monsters, Ethan. It only needs one clear image. One headline. One share. And suddenly—you're not a man anymore. You're a myth. A danger. A freak. How long do you think you'll last once the world sees you like this? How long before they burn your life to the ground—and salt the earth behind it?"
She tucked the phone back in her jacket and stepped away.
Ethan said nothing.
Because for the first time—he was calculating the cost of losing.
He swallowed hard. "You think blackmail's going to make me hand over my clients?"
Anna didn't blink. "This isn't blackmail. This is leverage. And if I wanted headlines, you'd already be one."
He laughed, but it was thin—almost hollow. "You're assuming I'd care."
"I know you do." Her gaze cut through him like a scalpel. "Not about the lives you ruined. But your name? Your legacy? That spotless record? That you care about."
He tugged at the chains again, testing them. Useless. "Even if I help you, even if I give you names… what then? You think the world's going to change because some feral she-wolf and a disgraced lawyer throw punches in the dark?"
Anna didn't respond at first. She walked toward one of the crates, popped the lid with a rusted crowbar, and pulled out a thick, water-stained file. She tossed it to the ground near his feet.
"Vince Kellerman," she said. "Pediatric pharmaceutical exec. You defended him five years ago. Claimed the dosage errors were a supplier fault. You remember?"
Ethan didn't respond.
"Fourteen children," she continued coldly. "Permanent liver damage. Two dead. You said the parents were emotional. Unreliable witnesses. That the lab results were inconclusive. The liver biopsies? Not strong enough. The death certificates? Open to interpretation."
Her voice cracked into a hiss. "All of it—reduced to noise. You told the court there wasn't enough evidence."
She leaned in, venom in her whisper. "Not enough evidence? You are vile."
His jaw clenched, but he said nothing.
Anna stepped into the moonlight spilling through the shattered skylight. Her amber eyes glowed like embers.
"That's your first name," she said. "You're going to tell me where to find him. Then you're going to tell me what he's scared of. And then... we knock."
She began to pace.
"But Kellerman won't be enough. Not to make the others flinch. Not to make the whole rotten scaffolding shudder." She turned sharply. "He's not the worst. Just the first."
She began listing names like a death toll.
"Voss. Mays. Delgado. Tanaka. Norren. People who smile on magazine covers while they drown cities in poison. You covered for them. Shielded them. Helped build the walls they hide behind."
She stepped closer, low and lethal.
"I'm not here for revenge. I'm here for collapse."
Ethan exhaled sharply, eyes closing. "You're insane."
"Maybe," Anna said, turning for the door. "But I'm not the monster in this room."
She paused in the broken doorway, the city's night wind stirring her hair like a storm brewing just out of reach.
"You can either stay shackled to that ceiling, stewing in your pride… or you can help me burn it all down. And maybe—just maybe—you'll find out what it feels like to fight for something worth howling about."