Chapter 3 : FIRST CONTACT
[MARCH 18, 2006 — BUTTE, MONTANA]
The diner smelled like grease and desperation.
I'd driven north for three days, stopping at cheap motels to sleep and let my shoulder knit. The wound had closed over, leaving angry pink tissue that pulled when I moved wrong. The scratches on my back had faded to thin white lines, nearly invisible.
Skinwalker healing had its benefits.
[HOST STATUS: 78% OPTIMAL] [SHOULDER MOBILITY: LIMITED] [RECOMMENDED: CONTINUED REST]
The System's recommendations got ignored a lot.
I sat in a corner booth with a view of both doors, nursing a cup of coffee that tasted like someone had described coffee to a machine and the machine had done its best. The place was called Betty's, though no one named Betty seemed to work there. Just a cook I hadn't seen and a waitress with tired eyes and a name tag that said GRACE.
[SCAN COMPLETE] [SUPERNATURAL SIGNATURES DETECTED] [COUNT: 3] [SPECIES: WEREWOLF] [THREAT ASSESSMENT: MODERATE — PACK APPEARS INJURED/STRESSED]
The corner booth across the restaurant. Three people who didn't belong. Two men and a woman, all eating like they hadn't seen food in days. Steaks. Rare. The kind of appetite that came from burning too many calories running for your life.
The woman had dark hair pulled back in a practical ponytail. Mid-thirties. She carried herself like she was used to being in charge—watching the room while pretending not to, tracking every customer who came through the door. The man next to her was younger, maybe twenty-five, with fresh bruises on his knuckles and a healing cut above his eye. The third was barely out of his teens, hunched over his plate like he expected someone to take it away.
[ASSESSMENT: PACK IN DISTRESS] [ALPHA STATUS: DECEASED (RECENT)] [CURRENT LEADERSHIP: BETA FEMALE] [INTELLIGENCE: BLACKWOOD PACK — FORMERLY BASED IN IDAHO]
The Blackwood pack. The name surfaced from the files I'd built over two years. Small family pack. Kept to themselves. Had territory in the panhandle that bordered national forest land.
Formerly based in Idaho.
I watched them eat for another minute. The woman—Jenny, if the System's profile was right—kept touching a spot on her ribs. Healing injury. The kind of touch that said broken and not quite right yet.
Hunters had done this. The System's intel confirmed it—the Blackwood alpha had been killed three weeks ago. The pack had been running ever since.
[OPPORTUNITY ASSESSMENT: HIGH] [POTENTIAL ALLIANCE: 73% PROBABILITY IF APPROACHED CORRECTLY] [RISK: MODERATE — PACK IS CORNERED AND DESPERATE]
I stood. My shoulder protested. I ignored it.
The walk across the diner took ten seconds. Jenny's hand moved under the table before I was halfway there—reaching for a weapon she'd hidden against her thigh. Smart. The younger man tensed. The teenager stopped eating.
I kept my hands visible and pulled out the empty chair at their table, sitting without asking.
"I'm not here to fight."
Jenny's eyes flashed gold for a fraction of a second. Werewolf tell. Control slipping under stress. "Who are you?"
"Someone who wants monsters to stop dying alone."
The younger man leaned forward. "That doesn't answer the question."
"My name is Silas. I'm a Skinwalker." I let my eyes shift—amber bleeding into my irises for just a moment. Recognition of predator to predator. "And I know something killed your Alpha."
The teenager flinched. Jenny's jaw tightened.
"We don't know you," she said.
"No. You don't." I kept my voice level. Calm. The way you'd talk to a wounded animal that might bite. "But you know this: you've been running for three weeks. You're injured. You're scared. And the hunters who killed your father—" Jenny's eyes flickered, confirming the guess "—are still out there. Still hunting."
Silence.
The teenager looked at Jenny. The younger man's hand stayed near his own hidden weapon.
"What do you want?" Jenny asked.
"I want to offer you something no one else will. Territory. Protection. Resources." I leaned back, letting the words settle. "I'm building something. A coalition of monsters who are tired of being hunted. Tired of running. Tired of watching their families get picked off one by one."
The younger man laughed—short, harsh. "Coalition. Right. And what, you're the king?"
"I'm someone who's tired of dying alone." I met his eyes. Didn't blink. "The hunters who killed your alpha—they had information. Names. Locations. Someone sold you out. You know that. You've been wondering who you can trust ever since."
Jenny's hand stayed under the table. "And we should trust you?"
"No." The answer surprised her. "You shouldn't trust anyone. Trust gets people killed. What I'm asking for isn't trust. It's calculation. Look at your situation. Really look at it. How long can you run? How long before they find you again?"
The teenager spoke for the first time. His voice cracked. "They killed my dad."
"I know." I didn't offer sympathy. Sympathy wouldn't help. "And if you keep running, they'll kill you too. Eventually. Might be next week. Might be next year. But hunters don't stop. They don't get tired. They've got generations of knowledge, weapons, networks." I paused. "Monsters have numbers. We have power. But we're scattered. Easy prey. Together, we're something else."
Jenny studied me. Looking for the lie. Looking for the angle.
She wouldn't find one. Because there wasn't one. I needed allies. They needed protection. The math was simple.
"Why?" she asked finally. "Why do you care?"
"Because the world's getting darker. Things are coming that make hunters look like playground bullies. And I intend to be standing when they arrive." I reached into my pocket, pulled out a burner phone, slid it across the table. "Call that number when you're ready to talk. No commitment. No strings. Just a conversation."
Jenny didn't touch the phone. Didn't look away from me.
"And if we say no?"
"Then you say no. I walk out of here. You never see me again." I shrugged, felt my shoulder pull. "But the hunters will still be hunting. And you'll still be running. The only thing that changes is whether you're running alone."
The clock on the wall ticked. Grease sizzled in the kitchen. Grace refilled someone's coffee two tables over.
Jenny's hand came out from under the table. Empty.
"I'll think about it."
"That's all I'm asking."
I stood. The chair scraped against the floor.
"One more thing," I said. "The phone works both ways. If the hunters find you first—call. I'll come."
Her eyes narrowed. Calculating. Weighing.
I walked to the counter, ordered a slice of pie, and took it back to my original booth. Apple, decent crust, the kind of comfort food that reminded me I could still taste things. I ate slowly, giving them space, letting them argue in whispers I could have heard if I'd bothered to listen.
The coffee got refilled without me asking. Small town hospitality, blind to the monsters conducting negotiations over breakfast.
[FIRST CONTACT: COMPLETE] [POTENTIAL ALLIANCE: PENDING] [UNITY INDEX: +5 (CONDITIONAL)] [DOMINION: +5 (FIRST CONTACT BONUS)] [EVOLUTION POINTS: +25]
The pie was good. Better than it had any right to be. I savored each bite, watching the afternoon light shift through the windows.
The Blackwood pack left twenty minutes later. Jenny pocketed the phone. Didn't look at me on the way out.
That was fine. I hadn't expected an immediate yes. What I'd planted was simpler—a seed of possibility. The idea that running wasn't the only option.
[SYSTEM ANALYSIS: BLACKWOOD PACK PROBABILITY METRICS] [ACCEPTANCE: 45% WITHIN 1 WEEK] [ACCEPTANCE: 68% WITHIN 1 MONTH] [CRITICAL FACTOR: NEXT HUNTER ENCOUNTER]
The numbers made sense. Fear was a motivator, but fear needed focus. Right now, they feared everything—hunters, strangers, the unknown. Give them time to process. Let their next close call remind them that someone had offered help.
Then they'd call.
I finished the pie, left a twenty on the table—generous tip for a place like this—and walked to the door.
My truck waited in the parking lot. The shoulder ached. The back itched where the scars were still settling. I had a list of abandoned properties to scout, potential Haven locations where a coalition could establish a foothold.
[NEXT OBJECTIVE: SECURE TERRITORY] [REGIONAL SCAN: 3 VIABLE LOCATIONS IDENTIFIED] [RECOMMENDATION: PRIORITIZE DEFENSIBILITY AND CONCEALMENT]
The engine caught on the first try. Progress.
Montana stretched out ahead—mountains and valleys and miles of nothing. Somewhere in all that emptiness, there was a place where monsters could stop running.
I intended to find it.
The radio crackled to life. Static, then country music, then more static. I turned it off.
Silence suited me better.
The road curved north, toward the mountains, toward whatever came next. In the rearview mirror, Butte disappeared behind a ridge.
Three werewolves with a burner phone and a decision to make.
A Skinwalker with a System and a vision.
The apocalypse was still years away, but the Monster King couldn't wait to be crowned.
I pressed the accelerator and drove toward the future.
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