Images drifted through my mind again. Not a vision, just the echo of one. The last thing Death showed me before sending me after Peter Grimwood. It replayed in my head, not urgently, not forcefully… just there. A low hum in the back of my thoughts I couldn’t quite shut off.

  Peter pulling Patrick Wicklow aside, cutting him off from everyone else. Patrick looked like he’d just been told something awful; pale, stiff, unsure whether to run or listen. But then… his expression changed. The fear didn’t go away… it just twisted into something else; want, desperation, greed… maybe. And then Peter handed it to him; that small, ridiculous object. A green plastic hairbrush. Like it meant something.

  I rubbed a hand across my face, sighing. I’d been meaning to bring it up to someone, but every time I thought about it, I just… didn’t. Couldn’t bother. There was already too much going on, too much grief in the air to add some vague suspicion to the pile. It might not even matter after Peter’s death.

  Bartley, Zeke, Annabelle… they were all gone. Their families were still trying to figure out how to breathe again. Patrick hadn’t said much since everything happened, that I was aware of; he just carried that blank look like his soul had been scraped out. His father and grandmother had lost their lives in the fight against the life-stealing necromancer. But the threat was over. Peter was gone, and everyone else was finally letting the grief settle in.

  I should’ve felt something more. Maybe I did. I just couldn’t tell anymore. Not after all that I had learned about my own situation. I was still me, but I knew what I was tied to. Death was the one behind me… leading me to those that needed to be killed. Myordrakien… the Primeval of Annihilation was within me, granting me the strength to do what had to be done. That was a whole other can of worms with ramifications much larger than this situation with Patrick and the hairbrush. The brush that belonged to Autumn.

  Still, even now, something about that memory kept tugging at me. Not because I was worried, just because it didn’t line up. Something didn’t click.

  I found myself pacing outside Martin’s safe house. The road was dark, trees creaking above, the wind brushing past me like it had somewhere else to be. I didn’t know what I was expecting. Answers, maybe. Some kind of clarity. Or just anything that made that whole scene between Peter and Patrick make sense.

  “What did he do?” I asked the air, more out of habit than hope.

  I wasn’t panicked or anxious. Just… curious enough to keep walking. Curious enough not to forget, just in case it would mean something… and I had to step into the family as an accuser. I didn’t want to… but if it was to protect Autumn, I would tell everyone what I saw, and fuck that boy up to get him to talk.

  I’d wandered a good distance down the road, the trees closing in thick around me, their branches clawing over the sky. The silence out there wasn’t normal…it was deep, almost heavy, like the world was holding its breath, trying to hide from the Primeval that lurked within me. I was just about to turn around, already halfway through another lap back down the road toward the house, when something shifted.

  First, it was the faintest vibration in the ground. A rhythmic pulse, too low for any human to notice, but it registered instantly through my body. I stilled. Then came the sound, tires on gravel, way off in the distance. A familiar rattle. The engine's growl traveled through the woods like a wild animal’s snarl, rough and impatient. It was Frank’s truck.

  My eyes blackened as I gazed down the road. As I saw the headlights slipping in and out around the dense treeline, I could see the heat in the air warping slightly from the truck’s engine. Then the lights turned straight down toward me, bright and sudden. They swept across the trees before landing squarely on me. My eyes narrowed, and I let go of the blackness, returning them to my human blue. Just for a second, I thought it might be something else. But that sound, that reckless speed… that was Frank, no doubt about it. Still, he was coming in fast.

  I watched the front wheels jerk suddenly, veering off slightly as the lights lit me up. I saw his silhouette jerk forward, caught off guard. The truck let out a high-pitched squeal as he slammed the brakes. Gravel crunched and skidded under his tires before the whole thing groaned to a dusty stop next to me. A pale cloud of dust rose up, catching in his headlights and floating around us like glowing smoke. For a second, it looked like we were trapped in some kind of slow-motion fog.

  He didn’t even kill the engine. It just sat there idling rough, coughing like it might die on its own if he didn’t give it a little more throttle to stay alive.

  Then he stepped out. Frank Chasse, in all his usual glory… built like a fridge with arms, thick from both muscle and years of beer and barbecue. He always looked like he was halfway between a strongman and someone’s fun uncle at a cookout. The red in his hair caught the headlights just right, a stark contrast to his siblings, Carter and Clara, who both had those softer, lighter tones. Frank was the oldest of the Chasse siblings, although he didn’t lead the family, like Carter did. A choice he made long ago when he was going through hard times, when Jane Talbot, his girlfriend, was cursed. That was all ancient history, as they had now returned to one another, and he had been the most carefree man on the planet.

  But this time, he looked different. Not just pissed… but rattled. Frantic in a way I hadn’t seen him before. He stomped right up to me, eyes sharp and jaw clenched like he was holding back something heavy.

  I half expected him to say Peter Grimwood was still alive. That all of this… everything we thought was finished, was somehow starting again.

  Instead, he said something strange.

  “I need your help with something,” Frank said, his voice low, tense. “I can’t explain, and you can’t ask any questions. But we’re going somewhere… to hurt people.”

  He didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. Just stood there, waiting for me to respond, the weight of it all sitting heavy between us in the dust and the haze.

  I didn’t answer right away. His words hit harder than I expected. Frank wasn’t the type to talk like that unless it was serious. Life-or-death serious. And even then, he usually cracked a joke to soften the edge.

  I studied his face. I knew Frank well, and if this was something big, the whole damn Chasse clan would be neck-deep in it already. But they weren’t here. He hadn’t brought them in. This wasn’t some big hunt. It was personal. He said as much, and I could see it plain in his eyes. This wasn’t something he wanted anyone else to know about… especially not his family… or Jane. Whatever this was, it was eating him from the inside out.

  Part of me, for just a second, hoped it had something to do with what I saw in that vision; the strange exchange with Patrick and the green plastic hairbrush. It felt like a long shot, but I clung to the thread anyway. Maybe it would lead somewhere. Maybe this would finally connect some of the dots that had been swimming in my head.

  “Alright,” was all I said.

  I didn’t ask for details. Didn’t push. Just moved toward the passenger door and climbed in.

  Frank gave a single nod, not relief, exactly, but something close. A silent thanks from a man who didn’t know how to ask for help, and didn’t want to explain why he needed it.

  He stomped back around to the driver’s side and threw himself into the seat. The door slammed shut with the kind of force that made metal groan like the hinges were one good slam away from giving out completely.

  Before I could even get comfortable, he mashed the gas. The truck tore into a tight U-turn, the back end skidding out as we kicked up a storm of gravel and dirt, fishtailing into the ditch before roaring back onto the road. A long plume of dust curled up behind us like a wake behind a boat.

  Frank’s face stayed locked forward, like if he turned even a degree, he might fall apart. His hands strangled the steering wheel, knuckles pale, the tendons in his arms standing out under the moonlight. The truck shook beneath us, every bump in the road jarring, every second steeped in silence.

  Whatever this was, it wasn’t just a bad day. It was something he’d been holding back for a long time. And now… he was finally letting it out.

  We drove for about an hour, heading in a direction I didn’t expect. At first, it looked like we were aiming out of the city, west, toward the Rockwoods Reservation. That meant Talbot territory. I almost spoke up, assuming this had something to do with them. But then we blew right past the usual turnoff, the truck grinding a little as Frank pushed it harder, staying on the road that led even further into nowhere.

  We weren’t just leaving the city. We were leaving everything behind. I kept quiet. I could feel it in the air… he didn’t want questions. Whatever was going on, it wasn’t about talking. He needed someone beside him, not someone interrogating him. And if that’s what Frank needed, then that’s what I’d be.

  Still, my nerves stayed sharp. I didn’t know what he was planning, but I told myself I’d step in if I had to pull him back if it went too far. Or, protect him if whatever he was walking into bit back.

  I kept my focus outward, dialing in my senses to feel out where we were headed. The trees outside grew thicker with every mile, shadows pressing harder against the glass. The road narrowed, twisting into a forgotten path that barely qualified as a trail.

  Finally, we made a sharp turn into a dense wall of trees, following a dirt path that had long since been claimed by the forest. The truck growled forward until the road simply ended. No signs. No markings. Just a wall of green and a heavy silence.

  Frank cut the engine. The truck wheezed into quiet, the ticking of the engine the only sound for a few seconds. Frank just sat there, breathing like he’d run a marathon. I glanced at him, watching the way his chest moved slowly but deep, like he was trying to calm something boiling under the surface.

  Then, without a word, he leaned over and popped open the glove box right in front of my knees. The whole thing nearly fell out of the dash, swinging down and hanging by a single hinge. He didn’t react; he knew exactly how far it would fall. He reached inside and pulled out a small wooden box.

  I expected a gun. That was standard with the Chasse family. A heavy pistol, maybe even silver rounds if he thought we were dealing with something nasty. But when he flipped the lid open, there was no metal inside.

  There was a plastic ziplock bag filled with plant matter. Swirls of green twisted with long, sinewy stems, each one sprouting smaller offshoots dotted with red-tipped leaves. The leaves were uniform, long, and colorful. But every single one of them ended in a strange, bulbous growth. Deep red buds filled the bag, smearing a reddish pollen-like dust across the clear plastic from being smashed inside the shaking truck.

  I didn’t recognize it, and I’d seen plenty of weird things in the world we operated in.

  Frank didn’t explain. He just pulled a small pinch from the bag, sealed it again with practiced care, and tucked the bag back into the box. Then the box went back into the broken glove compartment like he was locking away a secret he didn’t want anyone else to see.

  Then, slowly, he turned back toward the windshield. The plant was still in his hand. Without hesitation, he popped the whole thing into his mouth and started chewing.

  I watched as his jaw worked, grinding the plant into a pulp between his teeth. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t react to the taste. Just kept chewing, moving the material around with his tongue like he was trying to spread it across every inch of his mouth. It wasn’t the way someone eats… it was deliberate. Ritualistic maybe… He swallowed hard.

  I’d never seen Frank do that before. And I’d never seen any of the hunters do something like that. Not even the cousins, Zeke or Arthur. Something was off.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  The air felt heavier now. Like whatever we were about to walk into had already started creeping in around us. And Frank… whatever he just put in his system, it was clear he needed it for what was coming.

  He didn’t speak. He just opened his door and stepped out into the woods. I followed.

  “When we get in there, let me do the talking. Just do one thing for me…” Frank glanced at me, eyes cold behind the tension in his jaw. “Don’t kill anybody. We’re here to hurt them. Make them remember this night.”

  He didn’t wait for me to respond. Just shoved something into my hands. A ski mask.

  He pulled one over his own head in one fluid motion, the kind of practiced motion that told me this wasn’t the first time he’d done something like this. I hesitated for half a beat, then tugged mine on too. Whatever this was, we were past the point of backing out.

  We stepped into the woods, and the world around us seemed to shift. Frank reached into his coat and pulled out what looked like a spray bottle with a label… Windex? But the liquid had a weird, faint yellow tint. Without a word, he started misting himself head to toe.

  It wasn’t until my nose stopped registering anything from him that I realized what it was. This wasn't the blue window cleaner; this was some kind of home-brewed scent masker.

  It didn’t smell like anything natural. It had this strange blankness to it, like my senses were hitting a wall. He sprayed it until his natural scent was gone entirely, then hung the bottle on a low tree branch like a coat hook. He didn’t offer it to me. Just left it there swinging.

  Whatever was about to happen, he was hiding his scent… he didn’t want them to know who he was… or follow him afterwards.

  We crept forward through the underbrush, and soon I caught sight of a small fire flickering through the trees. It lit up a thirty-foot clearing in uneven, twitching shadows. The orange glow danced off three figures sitting close to the flame.

  I focused, let my senses stretch. My hearing sharpened. My heartbeat slowed, but beat harder a the Primeval rose slightly from its cage as I channeled its senses. Three distinct pulses lingered around the fire…loud, steady, too steady. Werewolves.

  I turned my head toward Frank and whispered, “Werewolves?”

  “Not exactly,” he muttered back. “They’re… not with Jane. Came from somewhere else. They need to leave.” That last part came with a weight that hit differently. He wasn’t asking. He wasn’t suggesting.

  There was more to this… way more. But we didn’t have time to unpack it.

  “Let’s go,” I said, stepping forward.

  And I swear… Frank hesitated. Maybe not in his body, but something behind his eyes flinched. Like he didn’t expect me to be so… ready. Maybe he thought I’d talk him down. Try to keep this from turning ugly.

  Too late for that.

  “You handle the other two. I’ve got the big one,” Frank said, already moving past the hesitation.

  We broke the tree line in near silence. The firelight licked at the edges of our masks as we stepped into view. The men’s heads snapped toward us, ears twitching. One of them stood, tall, broad, bigger than me by a few inches, and I wasn’t exactly small.

  “Who the fuck are you?” the big one growled.

  That was all he got out before Frank let loose a sound I didn’t even know could come from a human.

  It was a low, savage snarl. Somewhere between a war cry and an animal’s rage. Then Frank exploded forward. No hesitation. No warning. He moved like a freight train loaded with pure hate.

  He was too fast… way too fast. For a guy who was just a regular human a couple of hours ago, Frank moved like he had something burning in his blood. The lead of these unnamed supernaturals flinched, genuinely shocked; not by the speed, but by the intent. This wasn’t a warning shot. Frank was out for blood.

  And his first strike? Frank swung his steel-toed boot with detrimental force right between the big guy's legs… straight in the nuts.

  “Oh shit!” I actually spoke out loud, mostly to myself.

  I didn’t think that was going to be the opening move… but hell, it was. And it landed hard.

  The big man’s eyes bulged. His mouth opened in a soundless scream as he stumbled forward, knees buckling like a folding chair.

  Frank didn’t stop. Didn’t give him time to breathe. He grabbed the guy by the back of the neck, yanked him forward, and slammed his forehead straight into the big guy’s face. Bone crunched and blood sprayed.

  The other two men were still frozen, shocked that their tank of a leader went down in a blur of pain and humiliation by what they assumed was just some human man… and they… they were not human. I could sense it in their heartbeats.

  The big guy didn’t even make it all the way to his knees before Frank came up with a savage movement. It looked like he was going for an uppercut, but at the last second, he twisted his body and snapped his elbow straight up into the werewolf’s descending jaw. There was a loud, wet crack like someone splitting frozen wood with a hammer. For half a second, I thought it might’ve been Frank’s arm breaking… no way he should’ve hit that hard.

  But it wasn’t. The man went down screaming, one hand cradling his wrecked jaw, the other still jammed down over his nuts where Frank destroyed his family jewels. He flopped on the dirt, howling like a dying animal. That was one down.

  The other two were already charging Frank, but I was done standing back. He brought me for a reason. Time to hurt somebody.

  I exploded forward. My feet barely touched the ground as I launched myself at the closest one, both hands out. I hit him like a truck with a full-body shove, palms on his chest. I felt his ribs buckle as he launched back through the trees.

  He was airborne for a good fifty yards before slamming into a thick pine trunk with a meaty thud. I didn’t even watch him hit the ground.

  The second one was smarter… or dumber, depending on how you looked at it. He turned from Frank and came at me, hand raised with thick claws that were unfamiliar. They didn’t look anything like vampire or werewolf claws.

  I let him swipe once, then caught his wrist. My grip slammed shut like a vice, and I felt the tension in his arm shift from offense to panic.

  My black talons slid out like switchblades, slicing through his skin and digging into the meat of his arm. He snarled and tried to pull away… it was too late. I yanked him closer and drove a fist straight into his gut. He doubled over with a forceful exhale of all his air. Then I turned sharply and cracked the side of his knee with an unstoppable kick.

  He screamed and dropped to the ground, clutching his leg as it folded the wrong way beneath him.

  I heard the first one I shoved coming back, pounding footsteps crashing through the woods. I turned from the guy on the ground, wound up, and smashed one last kick into his gut that sent him sliding through the dirt. His body went limp. He was done fighting. His leg looked mangled, and his internals were probably bleeding from the pummeling. Part of me winced… maybe I went too far. They weren't werewolves… but they were something… I just hoped they could come back from this. I was playing it pretty loose.

  The other one came flying out of the dark, eyes flared a feral reddish-orange. He had a set of fangs that had a brown tinge to them; they were spaced wider and were much larger, protruding from the top and bottom jaws. Definitely not werewolves.

  He leapt through the air like a fucking missile. I didn’t flinch. A few feet from me was a branch the size of my thigh; I remembered spotting it earlier. Now it felt like fate.

  I darted to the side, scooped it up, spun around, and swung like I was hitting a home run.

  The branch met him mid-air. It cracked in half on impact, but not before redirecting him like a sack of meat launched from a cannon. His body flipped through the air, flailing, and then slammed chest-first into the side of a thick oak. Something sharp punched into him as he hit. Blood sprayed.

  He dropped like a puppet with its strings cut. He didn’t get back up. I saw a jagged stump of a branch jutting out of the tree trunk, soaked in red. My stomach turned a little.

  “Shit,” I muttered under my breath. “Could’ve actually killed that one…”

  But no. He was still breathing… barely. These things were built to survive worse. I could hear his heart continuing to beat in his unconscious state. Still, he’d be eating through a straw for a week.

  I turned back to Frank and froze. Something was wrong. The big werewolf, the one Frank had blitzed at the start, was completely demolished. His face looked like a butcher’s block. Blood poured from his nose, his mouth, his ears. His arms twitched like they wanted to defend themselves, but didn’t remember how. And Frank… Frank was still pummeling him. Standing over the man like a gladiator, fists dripping red, mouth open in a silent snarl, chest heaving, and heart hammering like a piston. His whole body was shaking, soaked in sweat, veins bulging like cables beneath his skin. His heartbeat… It wasn’t human. Not anymore. It boomed like a war drum in my ears, louder than these creatures. Not a flutter or a pulse… a runaway engine pounding inside him.

  He was drenched. Clothes sticking to his back, soaked through. But he didn’t stop. Not until his final punch caved in something vital and the big beast of a man stopped squirming.

  Then, and only then, Frank staggered back. His legs gave out a little. He stumbled, caught himself on one knee, breathing like he’d just run a marathon through hell.

  I was already moving. I grabbed his arm and helped him up. He was burning hot to the touch.

  He didn’t look at me. Just whispered through ragged breaths, “We’re done here.”

  As we made our way out of the area and I carried Frank back to the truck, the silence already began to settle around us. The woods behind us didn’t echo with any pursuit, just the quiet rustle of leaves and the faint, pitiful groans of the three men who’d been left broken in the dirt. I pulsed out my senses as we reached the edge of the clearing, just to check. They were still there, writhing, shifting slowly, trying to find positions that didn’t make them want to scream. I couldn’t tell exactly what they were… but I knew they weren’t human. At least not entirely. The pain they were in would’ve killed them outright, but these three? They’d just lie there until their bodies figured out how to stitch themselves back together. I figured they’d be fine in a day or so… probably.

  Once we were back in the truck, Frank didn’t say a word. He peeled the mask off his head, every movement sluggish like his limbs had turned to concrete. His eyes were raw and bloodshot, and he sucked in shallow, shaky breaths as if every inhale took conscious effort. The adrenaline, the rage, the whatever-it-was that had driven him out there, all of it was fading. His heart was slowing down. I could hear it from across the seat. I could see the strain fall off him slowly, leaving exhaustion in its wake.

  I watched him for a moment longer than I meant to. Human beings weren’t supposed to be capable of what he just did. Not without a cost. That part, more than anything, unsettled me. I had a dozen questions burning to get out, but I kept them for now. Buried with the bad feelings I got from this whole thing. Now wasn’t the time. The only positive feeling I could muster was a vague relief that he hadn’t ended up dead.

  With a long breath and the kind of sigh that only comes after the weight has finally been set down, Frank murmured, “Let’s go home.”

  He reached for the keys, turned the ignition, and the engine coughed to life, rumbling low and uneven. The truck pulled out, and we didn’t speak the entire way. The cab was quiet. Not tense anymore, just hollow, like the violence from before had burned everything out and left nothing but silence in its wake. The world passed by in dark shapes and occasional flickers of light from roadside lamps. My thoughts drifted, but they didn’t land anywhere. There was no fear, no urgency, just the still void of silence. I let Frank swim in his own thoughts as we drove, and I wondered what this was all about.

  Eventually, Frank pulled to a stop in front of Martin’s safe house. He actually turned the keys off completely, letting the truck settle into a mechanical silence that felt eerie after the long, rumbling drive after the vicious assault in the woods. He didn’t get out, just sat there, completely still, breathing normally; he was human again. The effects of the plant fully faded from his body.

  He turned to me, slow and deliberate. “Thanks… Sam.” The words came out low, rough around the edges.

  I could tell there was more… a lot more, but it stayed trapped somewhere in his chest.

  I didn’t push. Didn’t even look at him for long. I knew what this was. Frank didn’t want comfort. He didn’t want anyone poking around in what we just did… even me. He wanted to put a lid on it. He wanted to forget it for now, so he could work through whatever he had going on that led him to ask for this favor. So I let him.

  The creak of the truck door broke the silence as I stepped out. I didn’t slam it shut. Just eased it closed behind me and glanced at Frank.

  He gave a faint nod, eyes forward, hands on the wheel again like he needed the anchor. He had a look in his eye… like part of him was ashamed of what he’d just done. That I saw him in this state… a version of himself he didn’t let out in front of people… but I saw it. Then the truck rolled forward, slow at first, tires crunching gravel until he disappeared down the road and back into the dark, swallowed by it like he’d never been there at all.

  I stood alone in the quiet road outside Martin’s place, back to where I was pacing as I battled thoughts of my own. I thought about the three men that we just beat the shit out of. They were strong… stronger than I anticipated. Their level of strength landed somewhere near the werewolves but definitely above them. The eyes were different, too, as well as their roars. They were… deeper.

  My phone broke the silence. Just a soft chirp that was barely audible, but it sliced through my thoughts like a blade. It pulled my eyes toward the screen. It was from Autumn. In that moment, I was beyond thankful that Martin had helped me get a new phone.

  I opened the message with a sharp, involuntary breath, hands trembling, heart bracing, a desperate hope crawling up my throat. This was my human side’s reaction… all the things I wanted with her churning my insides.

  It was the second time Autumn had texted me after we talked. She had said she wanted us to meet up again, but I just had so much to think about with the whole Patrick/Peter situation. I was putting it off, as much as I wanted to be near her, I had to figure out what to do with the vision I had seen. This was it, though… I had to see her again. I had to…

  “Please don’t come over again. I want out… like you offered.”

  That was it… eleven words. The kind of words that didn’t scream, but severed. Like a quiet hand pulling a plug, leaving everything behind it… dead.

  My mind stilled. No racing thoughts. No breath. Just the words repeating in the quiet echo of my skull. I want out.

  I stood there in the dark, phone still in hand, glowing in that cold, clinical white. The light made the atmosphere around me feel sterile.

  I pressed the power button slowly. Not with hesitation, but with resignation. It was… over. The light died, and the world returned to black. I just stood there, not moving or blinking.

  The road ahead had vanished into a shapeless void, and for the first time in a long while, it felt like maybe that was for the best.

  I didn’t blame her. I had offered… I just hadn’t expected her to actually say yes. She was so certain before… so… with me. I had to go numb… like in the early days. I just needed to shut it out for the moment.

  I lowered my arm, phone slipping into my coat pocket with a dull thud. I started walking, not to anywhere in particular, just forward, because… what else was there?