The scrapyard never truly slept.
Generators hummed in the distance, okadas buzzed along the expressway even at 3 a.m., and somewhere a mosque loudspeaker crackled with the call to fajr prayer. But inside the container ring, the rogue wolves kept their own rhythm—watch rotations, quiet conversations, the occasional low growl when a scent drifted too close.
Elara had taken the midnight-to-dawn watch on the tallest stack of containers. She sat cross-legged in human form, back against a rusted wall, knees drawn up. Jude's shirt hung loose on her; she'd washed the blood out in lagoon water earlier. The night air carried salt, smoke, and the faint metallic bite of coming rain.
She hadn't shifted since the howl across the water. Part of her wanted to—craved the simplicity of fur and instinct—but another part needed to stay sharp, human-sharp. The river wolves' answer still echoed in her bones. She felt watched, though no eyes appeared in the dark.
At 4:17 a.m., the wind shifted.
A new scent hit her: leather polish, gun oil, expensive cologne masking wolf musk. Ironfang. Patrol.
Her wolf surged forward so fast her vision flickered silver.
She dropped low, belly to the container roof, and crawled to the edge.
Three wolves moved along the perimeter fence—two in human form, one shifted. The shifted one was massive, gray-furred, ears torn from old fights. The humans carried sidearms holstered openly and flashlights that swept in slow arcs. They weren't sneaking. They were searching.
Elara's heart kicked hard. The frayed bond pulsed—Kael wasn't with them, but his pack carried his authority like a signature.
She slid down the container side, silent as shadow, and landed barefoot beside the nearest tire pile. Tayo appeared beside her a second later—already shifted, brown fur blending with the gloom.
Patrol, Elara mind-spoke. The pack link wasn't formal yet, but the hunt last night had started something instinctive. Tayo understood.
Three. Armed. Smell fresh—probably first rotation after full moon.
Jude materialized on her other side, human but claws half-extended. Chidi stayed back, guarding the den entrance.
"We don't engage unless they cross the line," Jude whispered. "This yard's neutral. Always has been. Even alphas respect that."
Elara's jaw clenched. "They're looking for me."
Jude met her eyes. "Then we make sure they don't find you."
The patrol paused at the fence gap—the same one the rogues used to slip in and out. The gray wolf lifted his head, nostrils flaring.
He scented her.
A low rumble rolled from his throat.
The two humans drew weapons.
"Spread out," one said—voice low, Lagos accent thick. "Alpha said the black-silver bitch has been ghosting the eastern edges. If she's denning with rogues, we drag her back for questioning."
Elara's blood went cold, then hot.
Drag her back.
The bond flared—sharp, angry. Somewhere across the city, Kael felt it. She knew he did.
Tayo growled softly. They cross, we end them.
Jude shook his head once. No bodies. No war we can't win yet.
But the gray wolf was already moving—shoulders low, stalking through the gap.
That was enough.
Elara shifted in silence. Black-silver fur flowed over skin, bones realigned with barely a sound now. She dropped to all fours beside Tayo.
The patrol froze when they saw her emerge from the shadows—larger than before, eyes blazing like twin moons, scars on her shoulder glowing faintly silver.
The gray wolf snarled. Rogue. Stand down or we take you by force.
Elara answered with her own growl—deep, rolling, carrying the weight of something older than any of them.
This is not Ironfang land. Leave.
One human raised his pistol. "Shift back, girl. Alpha wants words."
Elara took one deliberate step forward.
The gray wolf lunged.
She met him mid-air.
They crashed together—fangs, claws, fury. He was bigger, seasoned, but she was faster now. Training with Tayo had sharpened her reflexes. She twisted under his jaws, raked claws along his flank, drew blood. He yelped, rolled, came up snapping.
Tayo joined—darting in low, hamstringing. The wolf staggered.
The humans opened fire.
Bullets whined past. One grazed Elara's shoulder—hot sting, but the wound closed almost instantly. Her blood sang with adrenaline and something deeper. Power uncoiling.
Jude shifted then—ebony fur, massive, scars shining white. He barreled into the nearest human, knocked the gun flying, pinned him without killing.
Chidi—still human—grabbed the second shooter from behind, arm around throat. "Drop it."
The gray wolf was faltering. Elara had him by the throat—not deep, just holding. She pressed until he went limp in submission, whining.
Silence fell, broken only by panting and distant traffic.
Elara shifted human first. Naked, blood-streaked, standing over the downed wolf.
"Tell your alpha," she said, voice steady despite the tremor in her hands, "that if he wants words, he comes himself. Not his dogs."
The pinned human spat blood. "You're dead for this."
Jude's wolf rumbled. Tell him Shadowfang sends regards.
They let the patrol limp away—bruised, bleeding, pride shattered. No deaths. But the message was clear.
The rogues retreated to the den. Tayo licked a shallow cut on her foreleg. Chidi paced, muttering about retaliation. Jude stayed calm, but his eyes were hard.
Elara sat apart, knees to chest, staring at the fire.
"You didn't have to stand for me," she said quietly.
Jude crouched beside her. "You stood first. That's how it starts."
She looked at him. "How what starts?"
"A real pack. Not borrowed. Not begged. Earned."
Across the city, in the Victoria Island compound, Kael stood in the war room.
Maps of Lagos sprawled across the table—territories marked in red and black pins. Zara leaned against the wall, arms crossed. Two betas waited at attention.
The patrol leader—human now, bandaged, limping—finished his report.
"…black-silver female. Stronger than last sightings. She had rogues with her. One big male, ebony. They didn't kill us. Just… warned us off."
Kael's claws were out, gouging wood.
"Shadowfang," Zara murmured. "They're calling her that now."
The patrol leader swallowed. "She said… if you want words, come yourself."
Silence.
Kael's wolf roared inside him—fury, pride, longing, guilt, all tangled.
He looked at the map. The scrapyard in Apapa was circled in pencil—neutral ground, but close enough to sting.
He spoke, voice low and dangerous.
"Prepare my bike. No escort. I go alone."
Zara straightened. "Kael—"
"Enough." He met her eyes. "This ends tonight."
Outside, the first rain of the morning began to fall—fat drops hissing on hot asphalt.
Somewhere in Apapa, Elara felt the bond shift again.
Not frayed this time.
Tightening.
He was coming.
And she was ready.