(POV Kaelan)

She stared at me for a long time, like she was weighing whether to run.

"Why did he-the man in the raincoat-come to the gallery?"

"Because he sensed something lit in the gallery ever since you started restoring it." I leaned back. "And because someone wanted this paper to touch your skin."

"For what?"

"To open something inside that painting." I shrugged. "To trigger a mechanism that's been shut off for years."

"And you don't want that to happen."

"I don't want that to happen with a gun pointed at us."

Her arms crossed, that beautiful defensive instinct. "You know too much for a hockey team captain. Things no one else even understands."

"Side talent." I glanced at the clock. Callum should've been on the perimeter by now. "Listen." I leaned in. "I'll say this once: whatever you've been feeling lately-exploding emotions, weird sensations, wounds healing faster-it's not because you're crazy. Your body's not broken. Your body remembers something that was put to sleep."

Her face drained. "You-"

"And I'm not gonna force you to remember it tonight." I cut her off quickly, locking her gaze. "If I force it, you'll hate me. Not because of the bitter truth, but because of the way it comes."

She drew in a sharp breath. "So what's your plan?"

"To keep everyone else away from this paper. To let you decide when and where you'll put your finger on the first symbol." I slid the old bundle back toward her. "And when you do, I'll be there. Not to command. To hold you when its weight hits."

"Sounds like a threat."

"It's a promise. A promise I've never made to anyone."

Silence. Outside, the water pipes rattled briefly-maybe the ice machine, maybe the rain changing the pressure. Rhea looked at the paper, then carefully tucked it back into her notebook and slipped it into her bag, her movements as careful as if she were putting a baby to sleep.

"Can you tell me one thing," she said softly, "that explains why you're like this? You-" she searched for the word, "you care too much about this. As if-"

"As if you're mine?" I gave a crooked smile. The grin felt wrong in my mouth, but honest. "You're not mine, Rhea. No one owns you. Not even me."

She stared, silent. But in her blue irises, a tremor I'd only seen when someone stood on the edge of a cliff and the wind begged them to jump.

"Then why?" she asked again, softer, almost like a breath.

Because that's how the world was made for us. Because there's a whistle only our kind hears when certain blood comes close. Because the scent of your skin wrote my name into my bones without my permission. Because I've run long enough to know: if I let you walk away tonight without a line drawn, tomorrow I'll no longer be able to stop myself from losing it-in front of the cameras, in front of the world. Because as long as that old seal in you keeps pressing down on the thread between us, I'm standing on the edge of madness.

"Because if something takes you," I finally said, "there's no space in my body to forgive myself."

She turned away. The tip of her tongue brushed her lower lip-a tiny habit I had no right to memorize, but I still did. "I still don't trust you, Kaelan."

"Good." I nodded. "Trust is a gift. Don't be cheap."

For the first time that night, a flash of softness flickered in her eyes-fast as lightning. She lowered her head, pulling her bag closer. "Do we... have to stay here longer?"

"No." I stood. "I'll grab some tea from the service dispenser. Warm tea. Tastes like cardboard, but..."

"I prefer cardboard coffee." She raised an eyebrow.

I left the room for two minutes, just enough to grab two paper cups and sugar packets that probably expired years ago. The hallway was empty, but I didn't like the way the silence shifted pitch-like the building was holding its breath too long. I came back, shut the door, locked the bolt.

"Drink a little," I said, handing her a cup.

She took it. "Thanks."

We drank the bad drinks together with the solemnity of people who had no other options. Every tiny sound was loud in the room; styrofoam scrape, breathing, the tick of a clock from who-knows-where. I recalculated escape routes, marking them in my head.

Then, my phone buzzed-almost at the same time as a faint crack in the ventilation pipe. I raised a hand, signaling silence, and opened Callum's message.

[Callum]

Three on the roof. One at the east door. One... missing. You didn't see him?

I lifted my head. Slowly, I tuned in with the other part of my hearing-our kind's hearing. Quiet. Too quiet for a place that usually hummed. Narrow rooms like this reflected movements, told you when someone passed. But now... even the rain sounded sucked away.

"Rhea." My voice was barely audible. "Move your chair behind me. Now."

Without asking why, she moved-fast and obedient for the first time. Her chair scraped. I stood in front of her, half covering her body. My nails-forced to stay human-twitched under the skin, begging to grow. The pressure in my gums-fangs pleading to push through. I held it back. Not yet. Not here. Not in front of Rhea, who knew nothing.

Something hissed in the vents, cold as iron plunged into water. From the air duct above the tool rack, a thread of smoke slipped down-thin wisps of mist that didn't belong in a damp corridor. I caught the scent instantly: wolfsbane. Mixed with something wrong-light ammonia, maybe to help it drift better. They wanted to knock out whatever was in this room. They knew the spectrum to hit.

"Down!" I shoved Rhea under the table, kicked the chair away, grabbed a wet cloth from the tool rack-an old rag.

The smoke thickened. I tore the rag, poured leftover water from the dispenser over it, slapped it against the vent, sealing off the poison for now. At the same time, the doorknob rattled-once, twice, with mocking gentleness.

I looked at Rhea under the table. "Phone." She handed it over without hesitation. My hands moved on their own, shutting it off. "Signal could be bait."

A dull thud on the door. This time not shy-steel kissing steel. The bolt screws rattled. I scanned the room; the closest things to weapons were a size-24 wrench and a steel bar for tuning the ice machine. I took both-one in each hand.

"Kaelan?" Rhea whispered, her voice tiny.

"It's fine." A lie. "If it goes bad, there's an exit behind the tool rack. I already cut the hinges halfway. If you have to run, you run. To the right, up the emergency stairs two floors, heavy door labeled TECH OBSERVATION. Callum will be there."

"I won't-"

"If I say run, you run."

She shut her mouth. Her eyes were too wide under the table. Terrified. I could hear her heartbeat-its rhythm not mine, but somehow commanding mine too.

The door stopped rattling.

Then a small voice-almost friendly-slipped through the gap.

"Kaelan Viero?"

I shifted half a step, turning to brace myself. "You're lost," I replied flatly.

"Of course." The voice was young, calm, the innocent version of poison. "We're fans. We want your autograph."

"Bring a jersey," I said. "Not wolfsbane."

A soft laugh. "Interesting. You smelled it."

"Because you stink."

Silence, filled with a smile I could picture. People like this always had polite lips when calling murder a job.

"Can we talk?" he asked, polite as a bank receptionist. "We just want the little thing. The paper. You don't need it, right?"

"I need everything she has." The words dragged themselves out before I could polish them.

"Yes," he said, still calm. "That's the problem."

Metal clicked on the other side. They were setting something against the lock-a stethoscope tool or a pressure opener. Time melted. I shifted, nudging the table with my boot-making space for Rhea to crawl toward the rack if I told her. Then I tilted my chin at the vent-the smoke had lessened; the wet rag was holding, breaking the effect.

I fired off a single-line text to Callum on the lock screen: Now. Then I killed the phone and shoved it into my pocket.

"Rhea." I crouched halfway, lowering myself so our eyes met. Hers locked on mine. "You saw the paper? The little symbols-waves, circles, slanting lines?"

She nodded fast.

"If I tell you, where do you press?"

"You don't want me touching-"

"If I tell you." My gaze sharpened, forcing her focus. "The tiny circle in the very center. The one that looks the most... blurry. Two seconds. No longer. Got it?"

She bit her lip. "That will-what?"

"Change our position."

"To hell?"

"Hopefully not."

***

(Kai's POV)

The door groaned. I stood. Feet grounded. The wolf in my bones clawed at my chest; my skin itched, my eyes began to burn. I took a breath-one, two-and let some of it in. My pupils stretched. More light bled into the world.

Metal complained. The latch squeaked. I counted-wrench on the left, iron bar on the right. The entry path was narrow. One person would enter first, two waiting behind. The first was usually the one reeking of confidence. Hit his knee, snap his elbow, drag him in as a shield. Simple. The blood would get messy, but... not on Rhea.

Then-click. The door cracked halfway open-enough to show a face. Not the raincoat man from the gallery. This one was younger; clean cheeks, gray eyes, a Sunday-school smile you'd believe until that same hand slipped something into your drink.

"Good evening," he said, pleasant. "We were sent to-"

I smashed the wrench against the inside hinge before he could finish. The door shrieked, rebounded. He jolted, the back of his head cracking the frame. Before the other two could slip through, I kicked the door's edge, forcing the space tighter. The iron bar drove into the first one's shin-wet crunch-he screamed, a pitch that made Rhea flinch under the table. The ones outside cursed-I heard technical words, not prayers.

"Now!" I didn't look back as I barked it. Rhea moved-fast, faster than I thought her body could. Her bag flung open, papers spilled, her hands shook. The door rattled again; another hand slipped in, gripping something that gleamed-not a gun, too calm-probably an injector.

I shattered that wrist with the wrench. A shriek ripped out. The door pushed back; force from both sides. I held it. Life shrank down to the grind of bones against wood; to the taste of iron on my tongue when my teeth scraped.

"Kaelan!" Rhea's voice-afraid. "If I-"

"Two seconds!" I roared. "Now, Rhea!"

She pressed.

The world... blinked.

Not light. Not dark. A pause in the machine of reality-a second forced to sit. The symbols on the papers hummed-not in the air, but in bone. It felt like biting aluminum. The moon painting in my mind-its golden eyes-opened a little wider. Something stretched from this damp, narrow room to the canvas in the gallery hall, a taut line pulling air between two points. I felt the tug in my ribs, like a hook sunk and gently reeled.

The door-in those two seconds-stopped pushing. The men on the other side held their breath; their voices clipped like echoes inside a bottle. I twisted, dragged Rhea out from under the table, held her against the tool rack. "Now!" I slammed the rack's back panel-the sheet metal I'd loosened this morning, its hinges hanging by two. The panel gave way, opening a narrow crawlspace into an older service corridor, wide enough for one at a time.

I shoved Rhea through first. "Right!"

"I'm not going to-"

"Now, Rhea!" I almost growled. My eyes no longer fully human-I knew it by the way light fractured into knives.

She slipped inside, scrambling fast. I turned, iron bar raised, as those two seconds evaporated-and time snapped back.

The door burst inward, faster than I'd counted. Two men slid in-the broken-legged one dragging himself, another lowering a sprayer. I smashed the iron into his jaw before the mist released; the device flew, bounced off the floor, hissing liquid across tile-wolfsbane vapor seared my nose. I staggered half a step, holding back coughs-staying in the space where its concentration thinned.

"Get the papers!" someone shouted outside.

"Too late," I said, and drove the wrench into a skull.

They weren't amateurs. Their movements were structured; one baited my strike, the other slid from the side. I changed rhythm, fought off-sync-the wolf in my bones wanted to finish it in blood, but in this small room, losing control was a death bell. I chose the dirty human path: eyes, knees, throat.

One, two, three-and the room went still. My breath tore. Iron in my chest. I grabbed the panel, slipped into the crawlspace, pulled it shut, braced it with my shoulder, breath rasping. Rhea crawled ahead, fast.

The old corridor reeked of wet stone and long mold, narrower, older, like roots forgotten. Dark pressed tight. I gave Rhea a small light-a strip clipped to my watch. I pressed it; white beam pierced ahead. "Keep going."

"Kaelan..." her voice shook, not only from fear. "What just happened? Who were they? How did they know we were here?"

"You yanked a cable under reality's desk," I answered. "For two seconds."

"How-"

"Not now." I glanced back-the room behind was alive again. "Later."

We crawled. My hand hovered behind her, not touching, but ready if she slipped. Vibrations echoed off the concrete; Callum, if he was on time, should already be arguing with two men on the fire stairs.

The corridor bent; at its end, I opened the lowest hatch-iron frame groaned. Air greeted us-cold, but freer. A narrow iron staircase climbed up. Rhea looked up, swallowed hard. "It's so high."

"Don't worry. I'm right behind you."

Step by step, our feet rang on metal. On the first landing, more sounds-heavy, muffled, the kind I knew: people fighting without wanting to be seen. Callum. A dull thud-stick to someone's ribs, maybe. His short laugh followed-the idiot always laughed at the worst times, like his body hated silence.

We reached the door marked TECH OBSERVATION. I pressed an ear-muted alarms beyond. Keypad lock. I tapped a small pattern-two short, one long. Knockback replied. Callum.

I eased it open. White light. A cramped observation room, thick glass facing the ice machine. Callum leaned in the corner, dark hoodie, cap, tired eyes. On the floor, two men groaned, bound in industrial tape-his signature. He looked over. His gaze flicked to Rhea for half a second-enough to read: fragile but unbroken-then back to me.

"You promised twenty-five minutes. You show in twenty-four," he said flat.

"Anyone missing?" I dragged in breath, shut the door. "You said one vanished."

"Still gone." Callum shrugged. "Either he ran or he's a ghost."

"Raincoat?"

Callum blinked. "You saw him?"

"At the gallery this morning."

"Yeah." Callum folded his arms. "I smelled him on the stairs, but trail cut."

Rhea stood, clutching her bag to her chest. She looked at the bodies on the floor, her face tensing. Terrified.

"Who... are they?" she asked, voice small.

"Someone hunting you," I answered.

"The hunters you mentioned before?" she asked again.

"Type that stepped out of that category," Callum muttered. "You okay, Miss...?"

"Hale," I answered for her. "Rhea Hale."

Callum nodded, as polite as he could manage. "I'm Callum. His friend." He squinted at me. "Friend... right?"

"Friend," I echoed. I knew he was checking how much I'd told her.

"Good." He looked at Rhea again. "Pretty miss looks like she needs water, Kaelan."

He handed her a small new bottle he'd brought. Rhea glanced at me as if asking: can I? I nodded once, and she grabbed it immediately. She drank a little. Color slowly returned to her face.

"What's the plan?" Callum asked, nudging one tied man with his boot-reflex check. "You keeping her here till morning? This place won't hold long."

I thought of the papers in Rhea's bag, that two-second pulse still rattling my bones. "No. They know this route now. We move."

"Where?"

"Somewhere even they hate going." I looked at him.

Callum clicked his tongue. "You can't be serious."

"Serious." I flexed my wrist, easing tension. "Backup freezer under the west block. Six degrees lower than standard. Bad for lungs, good for killing scent trails."

He glanced at Rhea, then at me. "You wanna freeze her?"

"I need them to lose us first." I looked at Rhea. "I won't let you freeze. I promise."

Rhea glared. "How many promises do you have tonight, Kaelan? And... why should I trust a stranger like you?"

"Enough for you to hate me. And... Rhea... I'm not a stranger to you," I said, honest.

"No. You think after what just happened, I'll see you the same? No, Kaelan. You're terrifying, and I can't trust a gangster like you."

I raised an eyebrow. Gangster? Really? "I'm not a gangster. I'm... yeah... just a man different from most men."

"I don't care. I can't trust you anymore."

I pointed at the bodies sprawled on the floor. "We don't have time to argue, Rhea."

"I want to go home."

"You can't. Too dangerous right now. You can't be alone."

I shot Callum a look, cueing him to back me up. Thankfully, my Beta understood.

"They already found you. They won't stop till they get what they want," Callum said. "The world chasing you now isn't the world you've been living in, Rhea," he added.

"They even know your address, and your coworkers' at Elaria Gallery. If you slip, the people closest to you-who shouldn't be victims-might end up victims," I pressed.

Rhea's eyes widened. "They're insane. Shouldn't we just go to the police?"

I shook my head. "What's happening isn't that simple, Rhea."

She fell quiet, thinking, before finally adjusting her bag. "Fine. I'll come. But on one condition."

I lifted my chin. "Name it."

"Stop talking like I don't have a choice." Her eyes-oh, those eyes-sharp, steady. The wolf in me howled to claim her right then.

"If you want me to trust you, treat me as a person-not a package," she added.

I stilled. Then nodded, deeper than politeness. "Alright."

Callum looked at me like watching a comet fall. "Thought you only knew how to say no. Turns out you can say yes, too."

"I can do more than that." I turned to the door. "We leave in five. Tie them-" I nodded at the two on the floor. "Tighter. And take their gear."

***

(Rhea's POV)

The late afternoon air clinging to the corridor walls felt damp and heavy, as if the building itself was swallowing the breath of anyone who entered. Our footsteps echoed out of sync-Callum with his quick pace that always stayed a little ahead, Kaelan with his calm, measured steps that made me want to hide behind his back, and Anselma who moved almost soundlessly, like a shadow slipping along the edge of the world.

Me? I dragged my feet, my bag feeling heavier with each step. Not just because of the papers and symbols inside, but because of something I couldn't see-energy, or maybe a curse-that pulsed and burned hotter against the strap. It was like carrying a coal pretending to be asleep, ready to flare up any second.

"Stop fidgeting with your bag strap," Kaelan's voice cut through the silence. His eyes flicked toward me, cold but with a protective layer underneath. "If it feels hot, let it be. But don't let go."

I swallowed hard. "What if my bag suddenly explodes?"

"It's just a piece of paper. It won't explode."

I shot him a skeptical look. "Just, you say?"

Kaelan nodded. His face was calm, and that calmness only spiked my emotions.

"Yeah... just a piece of paper. But people like you-dangerous people-are fighting over it. And this paper clearly isn't just paper. Are you still gonna use the word just for this?"

Kaelan stopped walking, forcing Callum, Anselma, and me to stop too. He studied me carefully. "I can guarantee your safety. So trust everything I say-it's for your own good."

His words left me stunned. Whatever comeback I had died on my tongue.

Next to me, Callum clicked his tongue. "Honestly," he muttered, twirling his telescopic staff casually, "I'm more scared of Kaelan when he's like this than of that insane cult waiting for us at the gallery. Usually when he's this calm, it ends one of two ways: we all make it out alive... or we all die together."

I glanced at him, half wanting to snap back, half wanting to laugh at how terrible his timing was. But before I could speak, Anselma-silent this whole time-finally said something. Her voice was low, calm, but cutting.

"No one will die... as long as they know which path to choose."

Callum snorted, eyes narrowing at her. "And you know which path, huh? Is that it?"

Anselma didn't answer. She just pulled her raincoat hood tighter and kept her gaze fixed straight ahead. Like someone unwilling to talk to other humans, preferring instead to commune with her own shadow. I didn't know what to make of her-fear her, trust her, or hate her.

Was she good? Or was she pretending, waiting to drag us all down?

I took a deep breath, my voice cracking as it escaped. "Earlier... you said the painting had already come alive. What did you mean?"

For the first time, Anselma actually turned to look at me. Her gaze was so intense it made my skin crawl. "I meant it's no longer just paint on canvas. That painting has become a door. And someone... from the other side, has already started pushing back."

"I still don't get it."

"You'll understand when we get to the gallery," Kaelan replied.

***

The car sped through streets that were slowly growing busier. From behind the glass, the evening light painted tall buildings in gold, casting long shadows across the asphalt. I sat in the back seat with Anselma, while Kaelan drove and Callum sat beside him. The hum of the engine and the rush of the wind were the only sounds filling the car.

Since we left, I'd barely said a word. My silence was heavy with questions. About what was really happening. About who was truly on the right side.

Honestly... everything I'd experienced today was impossible to fully process.

I exhaled sharply. My thoughts scattered when Kaelan's voice broke through.

"What do you think... who actually sent those people?" Kaelan asked Callum.

Callum sighed deeply, eyes locked on the road. "If they were just random hunters, they wouldn't have weapons that effective. The wolfsbane they used was specially made, and clearly their target wasn't random. They knew what they were after. They knew who we are."

I saw Kaelan's jaw tighten from the side, his brow furrowing. "You think this has something to do with-"

"The Pack," Callum cut him off quickly, his tone cold. "Or more specifically... someone who wants us back, whether we agree or not."

"The elders..." Kaelan murmured.

"I'm not surprised if they're involved," I added. "But I thought they were still busy with internal matters. Why send people after us now?"

Callum glanced briefly at Kaelan before looking back at the road. "Maybe because of you, Kaelan."

"Me?"

"Yeah. They've been uncomfortable with your decisions for a long time. You ignored their summons, refused to return. They said there was something important to discuss. But you stayed here. They could easily see you as... a threat."

Kaelan scoffed. "A threat? I just-"

"You're the heir, Kaelan." Callum's voice dropped lower, almost a whisper. "Did you forget that?"

Kaelan went silent for a moment. "I tried to forget, at least for a while. Living outside the pack makes me feel... freer. But apparently, they'll never truly let me go."

"That's the problem."

"So, they want me back by force?" Kaelan asked quietly.

Callum gave a slight nod. "That's my guess. But there's another possibility too."

I turned to him, waiting for an answer. Kaelan did the same.

"What?" Kaelan asked.

"They might not be from the elders at all. It could be outsiders exploiting the situation. Someone who wants us divided. And... who's been after the Moon Painting from the very beginning."

"I can't go back now," Kaelan said heavily. "If I return to the pack, that's walking straight into their trap. I'm not ready to face the elders and their games yet."

Callum tapped his fingers against the window. "Sooner or later, you'll have to. Otherwise, it'll only get worse. You know that."

Kaelan stayed quiet.

"Remember the elders' last message?" Callum asked again.

Kaelan scoffed. "Of course. 'Come back before it's too late.'"

Callum turned, his eyes sharp. "And what do you think they meant by too late? Too late for them? Or... too late for you?"

His words sent a chill down my spine. Especially since Kaelan didn't answer, his eyes fixed firmly on the road.

And then... silence again. This time heavier, thicker.

I finally leaned forward, my head poking between their seats. I couldn't hold it anymore.

"Do you guys even realize I'm here? I mean, you're the ones who dragged me into this insane mess."

Kaelan glanced at me in the rearview mirror, his face calm but his clenched jaw gave him away. Callum, on the other hand, chuckled softly, like he was entertained by my frustration.

"What do you want to know, Rhea?" Kaelan asked flatly.

I met his gaze through the mirror. "What are you even talking about? What's this Pack? Who are the elders? And... what did your friend mean by heir?"

"You can only find those answers in our world, Rhea. And it won't be long before you'll know it too," Kaelan replied.

I wanted to push for more, but Anselma's piercing eyes made me bite my tongue.

"Then why were those people after me? Why are they looking for me? Am I some kind of treasure? Worth dying for?"

The silence that followed cut sharper than before. Kaelan opened his mouth, but Callum beat him to it.

"Because you are a treasure, Miss Hale." Callum gave a faint smile, but his eyes were deadly serious. "The Moon Painting... it would never have reacted if it wasn't you who touched it. So of course they're after you."

My throat tightened. "What do you mean, reacted?"

"That painting is like a symbol," Anselma finally spoke, her soft words sharp as blades. "It's not just a seal. It's a key. And you..." she looked straight into my eyes, "are the hand chosen to turn it."

I shook my head, letting out a bitter laugh at the absurdity. "Chosen? Chosen by who? I never chose anything! I didn't even know about that painting until it showed up at the gallery-" I stopped, my anger threatening to spill over. "Please... can someone just explain this to me in plain human language? Not riddles?"

Callum leaned back in his seat with a long sigh. "Here's the short version. The painting holds a supernatural seal. It's been locked for ages. The seal gets passed down through generations, always landing in a certain family. No matter how hard they reject it, the painting always finds its way back to the rightful keyholder. And... yeah. You guessed it. The Hales."

I felt the blood drain from my face. My head spun, my vision blurring. "You mean... my family?"

Kaelan finally spoke, his voice low and cautious. "Rhea, there are things your family might never have told you. About the origin of your name. About why your grandparents lived near this land. About your bloodline. None of it... is a coincidence."

My head spun harder. I wanted to deny it, to call it nonsense. But the heat pulsing stronger from the bag on my lap left me speechless.

Just a piece of paper. Yet... how could it burn like this? Nothing about it was humanly logical.

"So..." my voice cracked, barely a whisper. "You think I'm the key to something trapped behind that canvas? Something I don't even understand or know exists?"

No one answered. Only the engine's hum and the tires on wet asphalt filled the space.

Until Callum finally muttered, so softly it was almost inaudible. "Not just something. But someone."

I snapped my head toward him. "What?"

But Callum said nothing more. He only stared ahead, as if he'd already said too much.

I slumped back into my seat, my chest tight. The world outside spun under the streetlights, but my mind was darker than ever.

Kaelan glanced at me again through the mirror. His voice was deep, almost like a vow. "Listen to me, Rhea. Whatever they want from you, I won't let them get it through you. Even if I have to fight and reveal my secrets to the world. I don't care, as long as they don't lay a hand on you."

For the first time since this all began, I caught a strange glimmer in his eyes-not just cold calmness, but something wilder. Something that scared me and... made me feel a twisted sense of safety at the same time.

I clutched the burning strap of my bag tighter. Only one sentence managed to leave my lips.

"Then I hope you keep that promise, Kaelan."

The car kept moving, carrying us closer to the gallery. And for some reason, every meter forward felt like stepping toward something I could never turn back from.

***