Fantasy RP The Last Hunt - (Chaotic & Froshi)

[Chaotic_Emerald]

“Don’t come home until after five. I have important matters to attend to and you cannot be here.”

That was the text Arthur sent his granddaughter, Evelyn, minutes before he knelt in the ritual circle he had prepared.

She couldn’t be here for this. He had promised her parents he would protect her. He’d spent the week preparing the ritual, he’d thought he had another month, but the air had been wrong all day. Subtle fluctuations only a witch or warlock could sense were everywhere. Arthur was trained, he knew the dangers of using magic recklessly. Evelyn did not. Her ability had been suppressed when she was seven, the night her parents noticed the changes and performed a binding to hide her power. The ritual had worked and Evelyn’s magic was undetectable. But her parents were found and murdered that same night. They spared Evelyn that night because they detected no magic in her blood. Now, the suppression was wearing off, and Arthur was running out of time.

He had promised to either train her or suppress the power further. He wanted to teach her, but the deadline was too close, and werewolves hunted by scent and could detect any use of magic. There was also the fact that over the years they had been hunting down many other witches in the Winslow family line for years, so they were learning other ways to detect magic easier.

The original binding had required both of her parents’ strength. Arthur had no guarantee he could complete the same work alone, but he had to try.
On his knees in the circle, his body protested. Age had taken its toll, his knees hurt more than they should. He checked the candles, lined and spaced along the circle, and smoothed the small veil before him. He closed his eyes and began the chant, focusing on his intention: to hide Evelyn’s abilities from both herself and the world.

The room answered. A breeze slid through the closed windows, candle flames quivered. Shadows gathered at the edges and inched toward him, some slipping under the veil and vanishing. Doubt crept in. Should he erase her chance to learn? What would she do alone, defenseless against the werewolves? His uncertainty shook his hands and clouded his focus. Pain followed: limbs tightened, breath shortened. The breeze built into a wind that nearly snuffed the candles and sent small objects clattering. He raised his voice, forcing the final verses to shape, but the spell fought him. The resistance seized his body and his mind in equal measure. As he reached the last line, agony ripped through him. He collapsed, face-first to the floor. Red tracks ran from his eyes like bloody tears. The ritual had proven more than his body could bear. He had failed.
He lay there stunned, knowing what that failure meant. They would come for Evelyn now. He could not summon the strength to rise. Minutes later his heart stilled, and the room fell silent.
-----------
Evelyn’s day had gone through like it usually did, breakfast with a cup of tea while she went through the day’s inventories, cataloging archives, and researching her parents’ deaths right before lunch. Although she didn’t actually take her lunch, the text her grandfather sent her caused her to grow worried. There was concern for her grandfather, he never texted her to not come home. It was always the opposite, he constantly wanted her home when she wasn’t out doing anything important. She didn’t know what to do past 3pm, which is when she got off work. She wanted to go home before 5 and find out what was going on. But she didn’t, and instead went to have a late lunch with her best friend, June, who tried her best to reassure her that things were okay.

“I’m sure everything is alright…you have mentioned that he isn’t always as predictable as you think. So maybe this is one of those times!” June rubbed small circles on the back of Evelyn’s hand, the soothing motion was something that often calmed her. But it wasn’t working this time.

“You don’t know him like I do June! He always wants to make sure what I’m doing, where I’m doing it and when. Telling me to not come home until a certain time without questioning what I do in the meantime is so unlike him!” Evelyn whined, pulling her hand back from her friend’s touch and tapping her fingers on the table.

They’d been sitting there for an hour and a half when she got a call from a neighbor. They said they heard some yelling from her house and wanted to know if everything was okay. She stated she wasn’t home but would be heading back.

Though it wasn’t quite 5 and June grabbed her arm as Evelyn stood up, “Don’t! You don’t know what’ll happen if you go before he told you to go.” She tried to be sensible about it, she knew her friend’s grandfather was a bit strict. So going against him would cause not so great consequences. Yes, Evelyn was an adult, but she always obeyed her grandfather and there were always consequences for disobeying.

“I don’t care. Something’s wrong, I feel it. I’ll call you later.” She yanked her arm back and June looked shook at the sudden change in her friend. Evelyn was usually soft and calmer than she was now. Perhaps it was because of the worry that flooded her body at the thought of something happening to her grandfather. He was the one to raise her after all.

She immediately exited the diner they were in and started running towards her house. It was normally a 10 minute walk, but she could shave off a few minutes if she was hurrying. Which now she was.

Once she got there she saw the door was ajar, but her neighbors would never go in without consent. And since they didn’t know where my grandfather was in the house, they would’ve asked her. But no one did. So she pushed the door open, “дедушка (grandfather)?” She called out as she entered the front door. It was a mess, things were knocked over, like a tornado came through the house. But there was no sign of her grandfather. Walking towards his room, that door was also open, she saw him on the ground and a figure looming over him. Instinctively she let out a sharp gasp, but immediately she covered her mouth and hid behind the nearest corner.

What the hell was going on?

 

[Froshimaru]

The human world had been burning through Kieran for three days now. Not the acute agony that came with fresh crossing, but a constant low-grade wrongness that settled into his bones and made everything feel slightly off-kilter. Like existing somewhere his body knew he shouldn't be. The beast had been cooperative enough, focused on the mission, on the target. On ending this.

Arthur Winslow had been dying when Kieran found him.

The old warlock lay collapsed in the center of a ritual circle, blood trailing from his eyes like tears, his breathing shallow and erratic. Candles guttered around him, their flames casting unstable shadows across walls lined with books and artifacts. The air itself felt wrong, thick with magic that had gone catastrophically sideways.

Kieran had stood in the doorway, watching the man's chest rise and fall with increasing difficulty. The beast wanted to finish it, to lunge forward and end what the failed ritual had started. But there was no point. Arthur Winslow was already dead. Just taking his time about it.

He'd crossed the threshold slowly, boots silent on worn floorboards, and knelt just outside the ritual circle. Close enough to see the man's face clearly. Close enough to be heard if Arthur had any awareness left.

"I'm sorry it had to be this way," Kieran said quietly. Not because he felt particularly guilty about it. Just acknowledgment of fact. Arthur Winslow hadn't asked to be born into a bloodline that had cursed an entire species. Hadn't chosen to be a target. But choice didn't matter much when seven generations of suffering needed answering for.

The old man's eyes had flickered toward him once, briefly, before glazing over. His heart stuttered. Then stopped.

Kieran stayed crouched there, perfectly still.

Waiting.

This was it. The moment seven generations had been working toward. Arthur Winslow was dead. The last warlock the Council had identified as holding the curse in place. If the theory was correct, if all the suffering and sacrifice and systematic elimination of entire bloodlines had actually meant something, then the curse should break now.

He waited for the burning to stop. For the wrongness to ease. For the human world to stop rejecting his existence like a body fighting off infection.

Five seconds passed. Ten. Twenty.

Nothing changed.

The low-grade agony in his bones remained exactly the same. The beast still whined with discomfort, still wanted to leave, still felt the fundamental wrongness of being here. The air still pressed against him like he was something that shouldn't exist in this space.

Kieran's jaw tightened. He rose slowly to his feet, gaze dropping back to Arthur's body. Then to the ritual circle surrounding it. The candles, still burning. The symbols drawn in what looked like salt and ash. The small veil placed deliberately at the circle's edge.

This hadn't been a curse-maintenance ritual. The setup was all wrong for that. Too personal. Too desperate. The blood from Arthur's eyes suggested the old man had pushed himself beyond his limits trying to accomplish something.

But what?

Kieran's eyes tracked over the ritual components again, cataloging details his training had taught him to notice. The way the candles were spaced. The specific symbols used. The veil, which suggested concealment or binding rather than reinforcement.

Arthur hadn't been maintaining the curse. He'd been trying to hide something.

The realization settled cold in Kieran's gut. Seven generations. Hundreds of deaths. Twelve years of his life spent hunting, killing, crossing into a world that actively rejected him. All based on the theory that eliminating the witch bloodlines would break the curse.

Arthur Winslow was dead, and nothing had changed.

Which meant either the theory was incomplete, or they'd been wrong from the start.

He pulled out the small leather journal from his jacket, flipped to the next blank page, and wrote with mechanical precision: Arthur Winslow. November 4, 2025. Natural death during failed ritual.

Forty-four names now. Forty-four witches and warlocks dead by his hand or because of his presence. And the curse still held.

He was closing the journal when he heard it.

Footsteps. Quick, urgent, moving through the house toward this room. Then the front door, already ajar from Kieran's entry, being pushed wider.

A voice called out something in Russian. Grandfather.

Kieran's head snapped up, every sense suddenly sharp and focused. Someone else was here. Someone who lived here, based on the familiarity in that call. The beast, which had been quietly agitated with the mission's apparent failure, suddenly went alert.

He could smell her now. Female. Young. The scent carried traces of tea and lavender and old paper, underlaid with something else. Something the beast recognized even if Kieran's conscious mind took a second longer to place it.

Witch.

But that was impossible. Arthur Winslow had been alone. The Council's information said he had a granddaughter, but she'd been tested years ago and shown no magical ability. Suppressed so thoroughly she didn't even register as a potential threat. That's why Kieran had never bothered tracking her down. What was the point of killing someone who couldn't use magic, who didn't contribute to maintaining the curse?

Except the air in this room was saturated with failed ritual magic, thick and chaotic and active, and something about it was changing. Kieran could feel it. The way pressure changes before a storm breaks.

Something Arthur had been hiding. Something he'd died trying to keep concealed.

The footsteps stopped. A sharp gasp, quickly muffled.

She'd seen something. Probably Arthur's body. Probably the ritual circle. Probably the aftermath of whatever the old man had been attempting before his body gave out.

Kieran rose slowly to his feet, every movement deliberate and controlled despite the way the beast was suddenly pushing harder against his control. The wrongness of the human world was getting worse. The pain was getting worse. And now there was magic everywhere, pressing against his senses, and the beast was screaming that there was a threat, there was a hunt, finish it finish it finish it.

He turned toward where he'd heard her hide, toward the corner just outside the doorway. She couldn't see him clearly yet. He'd positioned himself in the shadows near Arthur's body, and the guttering candlelight only reached so far. But he could see her.

Young. Mid-twenties maybe. Pale and slight, with ash-blonde hair coming loose from a braid. One hand pressed over her mouth where she'd gasped. The other braced against the wall like she needed the support.

And she was blazing with magic.

Not subtle. Not suppressed. Not hidden. Whatever Arthur had been doing in that ritual circle, whatever had killed him, had broken something. Shattered whatever bindings had kept this girl invisible to Kieran's senses, to the Council's tracking, to seven generations of hunters.

The beast wanted her. Wanted to hunt, wanted to chase, wanted to end the threat. Because that's what she was now. A witch. Active magic. Another piece of the curse that needed eliminating.

His amber eyes flooded with red, that telltale glow reflecting back from the darkness. Like an animal caught in low light. Predator recognizing prey.

His hands flexed once at his sides. The silver knife, Mira's knife, pressed against his ribs where he kept it sheathed. The beast was loud now. Louder than it had been in months. The combination of the human world's rejection, the saturation of magic in the air, and a viable target right there was pushing his control hard.

He should think about this. Should assess whether she actually posed a threat or if this was just residual magic from Arthur's death. Should consider that killing someone who'd just watched their grandfather die might be cruel even by his standards.

But the beast didn't care about assessment or consideration. It cared about the mission. It cared about the hunt. And she had magic, which meant she was part of the problem, which meant she needed to die.

Kieran's breathing slowed. His weight shifted forward slightly, balanced on the balls of his feet. Calculating distance, angle, the fastest route to end this cleanly.

One second. Two.

Then he moved.

Time seemed to slow as he lunged from the shadows, still human-shaped but moving with speed and precision that wasn't entirely human anymore. The beast lending him its instincts, its strength, its single-minded focus on the target.

Red eyes locked on sea-glass blue. Hunter closing on prey.​

 

[Chaotic_Emerald]

​

---

Evelyn held her hand over her mouth, as if doing so would make the gasp go away from the figure’s memory. But that wasn’t how things worked, and she knew that whoever killed her grandfather was going to come for her next. She’d seen too much. She knew how this goes.

But who would kill her grandfather? He was beloved by those he interacted with on a daily basis. Sure there were a few who disapproved of his methods and her whole family, but they wouldn’t go so far as to kill him…would they?

This was not how she thought her day was going to go.

With her left hand, her free one, she reached into her pocket to pull out her phone. Dialling 9-1-1 would certainly be a good idea…right? Maybe she could stall time for someone to get here. Removing her right hand from her mouth she started to unlock her phone, but her hands were trembling too much from fear that she couldn’t input anything right.

‘Shit’ She thought. What was she supposed to do now?

Her mind was overflowing with ideas of what she could do.
What if she ran back for the door? Get outside and run for help? No…she didn’t know how fast this person was and as soon as she revealed herself to them there’s no saying how quick she could get out.

Did they know where she was?

Were they already planning how to end her?

So many questions were running rampant in her mind. But there was no time to stand her and spend what could be her last few minutes thinking about what she could do. She had to act.

But before she could, a figure emerged from the shadows. How did she not notice that they…no…he was there for gods know how long?

A small shriek was all she could manage to get out as she took off in the direction away from him, but it was at the end of the hallway. Where she hid and where he came from blocked her exit. Maybe she could hide in her room, bolt it and make a call. Scream for help maybe.

Glancing back to get a sense of just how fast he was, she noticed the red eyes. ‘What the-’ Her thoughts were interrupted by the sudden loss of balance as she tripped over something that had been knocked onto the floor.

Scrambling back to her feet she rushed to her bedroom door, it was locked. Of course it was. Her grandfather told her to lock it before she left, in case anyone came in while they were gone. But it didn’t matter anymore. He was dead and now she would be too.

Right as she turned to look at the attacker in those…unusually red eyes, a sudden surge flowed through her body. Like…power. Why would she feel power at a time like this? She had no power, none at all. That made no sense. As he would be tailing behind her too close for comfort, she could do the only thing that would be her last chance. Beg for her life.

“Please…leave me alone!” She cried out, though the last word came out louder than she actually said it. Power surged from her and the word, sending a shockwave of…force towards the man. The force sent him flying across the hallway, hitting the wall opposite of where she stood. It was a somewhat small hallway, after all they didn’t have too grand of a cottage. But it was long enough to sort of do some damage when flung across…not that she knew that exactly. It simply looked like it would hurt like hell.

Along with the shockwave, the lights flickered visibly, slight frost built up from the corners of the shadows that seemed to be…moving, and candles that remained upright lit up momentarily. The ground shook as well, like an earthquake but…not as strong. More things clattered to the floor from the shaking, some candles but the flames were still intact. But the flames didn’t light up the rug it fell onto, which confused her further.

It wasn’t until the man made contact with the other wall that everything suddenly died down. The ground stopped shaking, the lights stopped flickering, frost lingered but didn’t grow, shadows were normal, the flames went out. The only thing she could feel was the slight chill that ran through her…or maybe the whole room. She couldn’t tell.

But what she could tell was the way that her whole body tingled from whatever just happened. Looking at her hands, they were shaking less, a slight glow in her palm alongside the normal ink stains. “What…what the hell was that?” She muttered, glancing up at the man.

What she wouldn’t be able to see was the way her eyes glowed, enhancing the blue in her eyes into a somewhat lighter shade, though it was faint compared to how it would’ve looked when she initially activated…whatever she just did.

But she took that as her chance, bolting towards the doorway that led back to the living space and the front door. Whatever just happened, she could figure it out when she was safer from whoever just tried to kill her.

She didn’t even go back to check on her grandfather, she didn’t want to risk that…person, creature, whatever he is, managing to get up while she mourned.

Once she got outside, in a space where she could be seen, she pulled her phone out again. With her steadier hands she was able to dial 9-1-1 but June called her before she could hit the call button.

“Hey, I heard there was an earthquake at your house? Is everything okay? It’s kind of strange that it only happened around your house…” June trailed off as she started to ponder on the other line.

“Yeah…everything is fine…” Evelyn lied, wincing as she did so. She never lied to her best friend. But she had no idea what was going on so what could she even tell her?

 

[Froshimaru]

​

---

The shriek registered before the movement did. High-pitched, terrified, cutting through the quiet like a knife. Then she was running, bolting away from him down the hallway with stumbling, panicked steps.

Kieran moved after her without thinking, the beast driving him forward with single-minded intensity. This was what it wanted. The chase. The hunt. Prey that ran triggered every predatory instinct he'd been keeping carefully controlled for three days straight.

She glanced back over her shoulder, and even through the dim lighting he saw the moment her eyes widened at whatever she saw in his face. His eyes. The red that marked him as something other than human.

Then she tripped.

Kieran closed the distance as she scrambled back to her feet and threw herself at a bedroom door. Locked. Her hands fumbled with something, maybe keys, maybe just panic. She turned, pressed back against the door with nowhere left to go, and he was right there. Close enough to finish this. Close enough to end the threat and complete what Arthur's death had started.

The beast wanted it. Wanted her gone, wanted the magic extinguished, wanted to eliminate this bright blazing source of power that shouldn't exist.

Her eyes locked on his. Sea-glass blue meeting predator red.

"Don't," he said. Not a plea. A statement. A warning. Because he could see it building in her, that surge of magic responding to terror and desperation.

Too late.

"Please… leave me alone!"

The last word hit like a physical blow. Not sound anymore but force, raw and uncontrolled and absolutely overwhelming. It caught Kieran square in the chest and launched him backward. His back slammed into the opposite wall hard enough that plaster cracked, air punching from his lungs in a harsh exhale.

The world went briefly sideways. Lights flickering. Frost spreading from corners and shadows that moved wrong, that reached. Candles igniting spontaneously. The ground shaking like reality itself was rejecting what had just happened.

Then it stopped. Everything settling back into stillness except for the lingering cold and the way his ribs were screaming.

Kieran stayed pressed against the wall for three seconds, assessing damage. Nothing broken. Bruised definitely. The beast was furious, roaring in his head to get up, to finish this, to eliminate the threat that had just proven exactly how dangerous she was.

He pushed off the wall, slower than he'd moved before. His eyes tracked to where she stood by her locked bedroom door, staring at her hands like she couldn't comprehend what they'd just done. Her palms were glowing faintly. Her whole body trembled, but not from fear anymore. From power.

"What are you?" The question came out rough. Not rhetorical. Genuine confusion cutting through the beast's demand to hunt. Because that level of raw, uncontrolled power didn't come from someone who'd been tested and cleared as non-magical. That came from someone with significant ability who'd never been taught control.

That came from someone who didn't even know they had magic until thirty seconds ago.

She muttered something he couldn't quite catch, then bolted. Past him while he was still processing what had just happened, down the hallway toward the front door.

The beast screamed to follow. To chase. She was getting away and that was unacceptable.

Kieran took one step forward, then stopped.

His ribs hurt. The human world was still burning through him. And Arthur Winslow's body was cooling in the next room while the curse that was supposed to break with his death remained perfectly, frustratingly intact.

Something was wrong. Not just with the mission. With everything. The theory his clan had operated on for seven generations. The ritual Arthur had died performing. This girl who blazed with power she shouldn't have and didn't know how to control.

He heard the front door open. Heard her footsteps retreating into the night.

The beast wanted to follow. Wanted to finish what he'd started.

Kieran turned and walked back into Arthur's room instead.

The old warlock's body lay exactly where it had fallen. The ritual circle still glowed faintly with residual magic. And on a small table near the window sat a phone, its screen lighting up with an incoming call.

Arthur's phone. Still active. Probably full of information about what the old man had actually been trying to accomplish before his body gave out.

Kieran picked it up carefully, tilted the screen to read the caller ID. Just a number. No name. He let it go to voicemail and pocketed the device.

Then he pulled out his own phone and called the only person who might have answers.

"It's done," he said when his mother answered. "Arthur Winslow is dead."

A pause. Then her voice, carefully neutral. "And the curse?"

"Still intact. Nothing changed." The words came out sharper than intended. Frustration bleeding through despite years of practice keeping his tone level.

Longer pause. He could hear her breathing, could imagine the way her expression would shift from anticipation to resignation to something harder to name.

"Are you certain?"

"The human world still feels exactly the same. The beast is still agitated. The rejection hasn't eased at all." He looked down at Arthur's body, jaw tight. "Twelve years. Forty-four names. And nothing's different. So either the theory is wrong or we're missing something critical."

The beast snarled at that. Questioning the Council. Questioning the mission. Questioning seven generations of sacrifice. Weak. Traitor. The Mothers know best.

He ignored it.

"Kieran," his mother's voice carried a warning edge. "This isn't the time for doubt."

"It's not doubt. It's fact." The frustration was building now, three days of pain and a mission that had just proven meaningless sharpening his words. "And there's another complication. The granddaughter. Evelyn Winslow. She was here. She has magic. Significant magic."

"That's impossible. Our information said she was tested and cleared. Non-magical."

"She was bound. Arthur was performing a ritual when I arrived, looked like he was trying to reinforce a suppression spell. It failed. Killed him. And whatever bindings were keeping her hidden broke with it."

His mother was quiet for a long moment. "Did you eliminate her?"

"No."

"Kieran-"

"She didn't know she had magic until it manifested. She was terrified and confused and she still managed to throw me across a hallway with a single word." He could hear the edge in his own voice now, the barely controlled irritation at a situation that made less sense the longer he stood here. "Whatever Arthur was hiding, it's significant. And I need to understand what we're actually dealing with before I eliminate another target that might not even matter."

Traitor, the beast hissed. Questioning orders. Defying the Mothers. Weak.

"Your orders are to come home," his mother said, voice hardening into command. "Immediately. The Council needs to assess this information."

Kieran looked around Arthur's room. Books. Journals. Ritual components. Evidence of something the Council clearly hadn't known about. Evidence that their seven-generation theory might be fundamentally flawed.

"I'm staying," he said.

Silence on the other end. The kind of silence that meant he'd just crossed a line he'd never crossed before.

"What did you say?"

"I'm staying. The girl has answers, whether she knows it or not. Arthur died trying to keep her hidden for a reason. I need to find out why before I complete any more missions that might be based on incomplete information."

"Kieran, you are not authorized to-"

"Forty-four deaths, Mother. Twelve years of my life. Garren and Mira both gone. And the curse is still intact." His voice had gone flat now, stripped of everything except tired frustration. "So either we've been wrong this entire time, or there's something we don't know. Either way, I'm finding out which before I add another name to the list."

Another long silence. Then: "The Council will not approve this."

"The Council can pull me back if they want. But I'm not crossing over until I have answers."

He could hear her breathing. Sharp. Controlled. The kind of control she used when she was furious but couldn't afford to show it.

"You have three days," she finally said. "Find your answers. Then you come home, with or without the girl's body. Understood?"

"Understood."

The call ended.

Kieran stood in Arthur Winslow's ritual room, phone still in hand, while the beast raged about defiance and weakness and betraying the clan's purpose.

Three days. That's all he had to figure out why seven generations of hunting had accomplished nothing. Why Arthur had died trying to hide a girl with more raw power than Kieran had seen in years. Why the curse that should have broken with the last warlock's death still held perfectly intact.

Three days to find a terrified witch who'd just discovered she had magic and convince her to give him information she probably didn't even know she possessed.

The beast called him traitor.

Kieran pocketed his phone and started gathering Arthur's journals.

Maybe he was. But he was done killing blind.​

 

[Chaotic_Emerald]

​

---

The question the man had asked her lingered in Evelyn’s mind.

‘What are you?’

She had no idea. She didn’t even know she could do that, the tingling sensation faded, but it wasn’t completely gone. As if that power lingered beneath her skin…her bones even.

Was that even possible? At this point anything could be-

A voice interrupted her thoughts, “Lynn? Are you sure you’re okay?” June asked again through the phone, obviously not believing the shaky words.

Evelyn shook her head, like June could see the action, “I…I don’t know. But my grandfather…he’s dead.” She sobs out, tears finally streaming down her face. “Can…can you pick me up? I’m going to go to the neighbors…clean up. I’m…a mess.” She muttered, getting the okay from June before hanging up the call.

Glancing back at her house…she sniffles before taking off to the neighbors to use their bathroom to clean up. While she didn’t look like a mess other than her typical appearance, she felt like she was covered in something. Even though there wasn’t anything on her other than ink stains and paper dust.

She also asked her neighbor to call for the paramedics while she cleaned up. The elderly woman had asked what happened, and when she told her minus the whole ‘I caused an explosion in my home that sent some man across the hallway’ part, the woman’s face lost all emotion and went pale.

“Get out.” The woman said, forcing Evelyn by her arm.

Evelyn didn’t understand, what was so bad about what she had said? Yes her grandfather was strange and often drew symbols like the one she saw briefly on the floor. Everyone including himself told her it was just a hobby. But now it was a problem?

“What…why?! I didn’t do anything! My grandfather was just MURDERED!” The last word sent a smaller, less powerful shockwave, instead electrocuting the old woman’s hand to force her to let go.

“You need to leave. Now. And don’t do that again. Ever. Find some place safe and stay there. Don’t lose control.” The woman said right before she shut the door in Evelyn’s face.

Fortunately, June pulled up in her car, looking at the damage to the house. Yet there was nothing to see on the outside. All the damage was internal.

Evelyn walked up to the car and got into the passenger seat, sighing as she slumped into the seat. “I don’t want to talk about it…I just need to sleep.” She muttered, getting a nod in response as June took off back towards her home.
–
When they got there, Evelyn took a cooler shower…or at least that was the intention. But as the memories and the question replayed in her head suddenly the water stopped falling onto her. The showerhead was…frozen? Immediately she wrapped herself in a towel and stepped out to tell June.

“Junebug, your shower froze.” She called out, but then as soon as she saw her friend…the shower was running again. It was strange, the moment she saw June, she was able to relax more and so did the shower…? “Never mind I guess it has a mind of its own…” She huffed before entering the bathroom, shutting the door behind her and going back to her shower.

After she showered, changed, and laid down on the bed next to where June would lay, she held her hands out in front of her with her palms facing her face.

Where was that glow from earlier? It was gone. But before she could start to question it, June came into the room.

“So I made some calls, first responders are on their way to your house to pick up Mr. Winslow and officers will be here to ask you some questions. For now you need to rest, get your energy for tomorrow. It’s going to be a busy day.” She says, moving to lay down next to Evelyn.

Evelyn nods, turning to her side to turn off the light before flipping onto her back again. She didn’t sleep, at least not right away. She couldn’t, not with the events playing in her head over and over and over again. But June next to her helped keep her relatively calm.

Then there was that question lingering in the back of her head…

“What am I?”
-------------

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---

Catherine could feel fear all throughout her body when she heard what had happened to Arthur. And the fact that Evelyn survived the attacker means that this whole town is in danger.

The woman thought that all the redmarked werewolves died. That the last two members of the Winslow family were safe and able to live a normal life. Or at least as normal as one could have while being a witch/warlock.

She unfortunately knew how the redmarked ones operated, and they were dangerous. They wanted the Winslow family dead because of what they did to the werewolves. But what they did was to protect the humans. There were no regrets and the spell couldn’t be so easily undone.

Catherine was worried for both the girl and the town, knowing that the determination to end the Winslow line was powerful in the werewolves.

So she grabbed her phone, dialling a number and bringing the phone to her ear, “Arthur’s dead. Suppression gone wrong. She’ll inherit everything and will have no idea what to do with it all. She’s in danger, but if she dies we won’t have to worry about the werewolves ever again.” Catherine mutters into the phone, holding it to her ear by her shoulder as she goes to her basement to fish through some old boxes.

“She has to be kept alive. The bloodline must live on, in case the decision to undo the veil is made. They are the only ones who can undo it. Keep her alive.” The voice on the other end was male, stern and unyielding.

Catherine let out a sigh, “Fine. But I’ll need help. She’s never used magic before, I can’t deal with so much power on my own.” She says as she pulls out an old, thick book. It was her old grimoire, something she never used in years ever since she stopped practicing magic. The girl would need this. But how she would get it to her, she had no idea.

“You’ll have help. But for now keep an eye on her. Make sure she doesn’t cause too much destruction. I’ll keep in touch.” The man said before hanging up the phone.

Catherine let out an exhausted sigh. This wasn’t what she signed up for. Why did Arthur have to be so stupid and do that ritual by himself? Or do it altogether? The girl is so screwed and Catherine has so much to do.

Heading back upstairs she set the grimoire on the coffee table in the living room, sitting on the couch and staring at it. This was going to be tough.

 

[Froshimaru]

​

---

Kieran moved through Arthur's room with methodical efficiency, gathering what mattered. The journals went into a worn leather satchel he'd found hanging near the door. Arthur's phone, still warm. Loose papers covered in ritual notations. A few artifacts that radiated residual magic strongly enough that even he could feel them.

The beast prowled restlessly beneath his skin, agitated by the lingering magic and the fact that their prey had escaped. Weak. Letting her run. Should be hunting NOW.

"I know," Kieran muttered under his breath, shoving another journal into the bag.

He paused at the ritual circle, crouched down to examine the symbols more closely. Salt and ash, arranged in patterns he'd seen before but never quite like this. The candles had burned down to stubs. The veil lay crumpled where Arthur had placed it, stained with blood from the old man's eyes.

Binding magic. Concealment. Arthur had died trying to hide something.

No. Hide someone.

Kieran's jaw tightened. He straightened, slinging the satchel over his shoulder, and finally let himself look at Arthur's body properly.

The old warlock lay on his side now, the way he'd fallen when his heart gave out. Face still twisted in pain and determination. Blood dried in tracks down his weathered cheeks. Hands curled slightly, like he'd been reaching for something at the end.

Kieran stood over him for a long moment.

"I meant what I said," he said quietly to the corpse. "I am sorry it had to be this way. You didn't choose your bloodline any more than I chose mine."

He crouched down, close enough that if Arthur were still alive, he'd be able to hear clearly.

"But I'm not sorry you're dead. You understand? Whatever you were trying to protect, whatever that ritual was supposed to accomplish, it was always going to end like this. Seven generations of my people have suffered because of what your ancestors did. The hunt isn't something I enjoy. It's just necessary."

The words felt hollow even as he said them. Necessary. The mission. The greater good of his clan.

Forty-four deaths, and the curse still held.

He stood again, turned away from the body. The wrongness of the human world pressed against him, that constant low-grade burn that had been eating at him for three days. The beast wanted to leave, wanted to cross back home where the air didn't actively reject their existence.

But they weren't done here. Not yet.

In the distance, sirens. Faint but getting closer. The neighbor must have called emergency services after Evelyn fled. Kieran had maybe ten minutes before the authorities arrived, less if they were already close.

He moved through the house quickly, checking rooms. Looking for anything else that might matter. A small cottage, neat and carefully maintained. Books everywhere. More ritual components tucked away in cupboards. The scent of old magic and older grief saturating everything.

And underneath it all, Evelyn's scent. Tea and lavender and old paper, now overlaid with fear-sweat and that blazing magical signature that made the beast's hackles rise.

Her trail led from the bedroom hallway back through the house. Out the front door. Then... it split.

One path led away down the street. Fading, like she'd gotten into a vehicle.

The other led next door.

Kieran followed the closer trail first, letting his senses map out what had happened. She'd gone to the neighbor's house. The door had opened. There'd been conversation. Then something had happened, something that left a sharp ozone smell in the air like lightning. Another magical discharge, smaller than the one that had thrown him across the hallway but still significant.

Then the door had closed and Evelyn's trail led away again, joining up with the vehicle scent.

But the neighbor...

Kieran moved closer to the house, staying in the shadows between properties. The sirens were getting louder. Five minutes, maybe.

He focused on the scents coming from the neighboring cottage.

Female. Elderly. But underneath the normal human smells was something else. Something that made his instincts prickle with recognition.

Magic. Old magic, the kind that came from decades of practice. Not as bright or raw as Evelyn's newly unleashed power, but more controlled. More deliberate.

Another witch.

The beast snarled. Another threat. Another target. Finish it.

Kieran ignored it, thinking through what he'd just learned. Evelyn had run here. To someone who knew about magic. Someone who'd been close enough to be a neighbor, who'd presumably watched Arthur raise his granddaughter, who'd known about the Winslows and their craft.

And whoever this was had sent Evelyn away.

Protected her? Or gotten rid of a liability?

The sirens were close now. Maybe three minutes out.

"I know you're in there," Kieran called out, not loud but clear enough to carry through the walls. "And I know what you are."

He waited. Ten seconds. Twenty.

Then he added, quieter but still audible: "I'm not here to kill you. I need information. About the girl. About what Arthur was doing."

The beast raged at that. Liar. We kill witches. That's the mission. That's what we DO.

But the mission had just proven itself fundamentally flawed, and Kieran was done killing blind.

He stood in the shadows between houses, the satchel of Arthur's belongings weighing heavy on his shoulder, and waited to see if the neighbor would answer.

Or if he'd have to come back later when there weren't police cars about to flood the street.

 

[Chaotic_Emerald]

​

---

Evelyn laid there on the bed, unable to sleep. Granted it was early to be sleeping, but considering everything that just happened one would think she'd be exhausted enough to sleep. But no. She couldn't even close her eyes without the partial image of her grandfather dead appearing in her mind. It was either that or the events that took place with the attacker. Those red eyes...she couldn't get them out of her head. They were the only thing she noticed about him, the only thing she actually got a good look at.

It sounded ridiculous. A man with red eyes. That couldn't have been real...right? It wasn't natural for a person to have red eyes like that. But then again, neither was the way she flung him against the wall or how she shocked her neighbor when she tried to get help.

Instead of continuing to try to sleep, she slips out of the bed. June turns her head to look at Evelyn, clearly not asleep, "Are you okay? What's wrong?" She could tell something was clearly wrong. For someone who went through so much should be exhausted and wanting to sleep.

Evelyn was the opposite almost. Yes, she was exhausted but at the same time restless. She had to find out who that man was. Nodding her head she gives June a soft smile, "Yes, I'm okay. I just need to do some research to calm my nerves." Then she walked out the room and to the little office space June had. They both liked to do research and so June told Evelyn that she could use the computer whenever she needed. Since she didn't want to leave the house, scared that the man was out there...waiting for her...she had to go digital. Which wasn't all bad, but she liked her paper research. Though you could really find just about anything online, which would help ease her stress and worries...or so she hoped.

June on the other hand, didn't believe Evelyn and followed behind her into the office, leaning against the door frame as she watched her friend. "You know you can talk to me about anything right? Something is wrong or at least bothering you. I just want to help you and stop you from going down whatever rabbit hole you're about to go down." She sounded worried, which only made Evelyn hesitate further.

What could she say to ease her friend? To ease herself? There was nothing she could say that would make sense. June would certainly think she's crazy. Hells, that's how she felt already. She didn't need someone to add to that. Though the thoughts were truly irrational, she couldn't help but shake her head. "I won't go too far. I just need answers. I know I can't erase what happened, but I need time before I can face it..." Those words seemed to put June somewhat at ease, the girl turned around to go back to lay down.

Evelyn let out a quiet sigh as June left, now turning her attention to the computer. Typing in the password and opening the site for the town archives she began her research.

'Red eyes' - No results

She tried typing the same thing in the site for the library archives.

Nothing other than folklore.

At first that seemed ridiculous, the man couldn't be something out of a story...right? Despite all rational thoughts telling her that wasn't possible, she clicked on the top result. It was something about werewolves...ones who were known most for their red eyes. She couldn't help but scoff. That man could not be a werewolf. The way they were described in appearance was nothing like how the man had looked. They were said to have rather distinct appearances, easily detectable. But the man she encountered looked like any other person she had encountered aside from the eye color.

"This is ridiculous" She grumbled, shutting off the computer and standing up to go back to lay down but she hit her knee on the desk, "ow!" She cried out softly, not wanting to alert June in the other room. But her tone had that same power as it did before, and the wooden desk lit on fire in the corner she hit. "Shit! No, no, no. Where did you come from?! Go away!" She tried to shoo the fire away, but it just lingered. It didn't spread but it wasn't supposed to be there. There was nothing that could've caused it. "Stop!" She said, holding her hands out at the fire. It disappeared.

Frowning she looked at her hands, there was a slight glow again. So, she learned that every time something like that happened her hands glowed for some reason. There was also the fact that she had no idea how she even stopped it. Sure, she told it to stop and held her hands out, but what exactly caused it to stop in the first place? The motion itself seemed really ridiculous, but it worked. Somehow.

Shaking her head, figuring her mind was playing tricks on her for some reason, she went over to the kitchen to grab some water. But she noticed two glowing dots in the window, walking closer she saw that those dots were...her eyes. They were glowing too. But once she blinked it was gone, so was the glowing on her hands.

This was...weird. Grabbing a glass and filling it with water she immediately went to go into the living room and grab a book to read. That would certainly take her mind off of everything...right?
-----------

​

---

Catherine was startled by the voice she heard through the walls. Was that the werewolf? She didn't answer, maybe he would leave.

"And I know what you are."

Well shit. That was great. Well now she had no choice, let him in or he lets himself in. She had protective wards set in place so he wouldn't be able to get far without more pain than he was probably already in, but that wouldn't stop him. Standing from the couch she sat on she walked to the door, grabbing the sigil that marked where the barrier began and moving it further back so she couldn't fully enter her house. But it would be back enough for him to enter and ask whatever questions he wanted.

Then she unlocked the door before stepping behind the sigil. "Come in" She instructed, standing with her arms crossed.

"Keep her alive."

The instructions rang through her mind like a bell marking the twelfth hour. Keeping her alive would keep these problematic werewolves capable of killing off witches. Especially if redmarked ones still lived. This would never end. But he was the one who knew best. So, she had to listen, or she would be shunned and stripped of her magic touch altogether. She didn't want that. "I thought your kind wanted that family dead. Why are you wasting time looking for answers your people already came up with?" She raised a brow, curios as to why this particular werewolf wasn't as murder driven as the others she knew hunted the bloodlines. But she wouldn't answer his questions until she got a better understanding if he was truly a threat or not.

"Let me add that if you do try to kill me, you won't get far in this house without feeling worse pain than you are feeling right now. I also have contacts who are aware of your presence. They will make sure you go back to where you came from." She warned. Though the wards were really the only thing that she had to stop him. Her magic was untouched for years. So she was rusty and any usage wouldn't be as powerful as she'd like it to be.

 

[Froshimaru]

​

---

Kieran heard the movement inside. Footsteps approaching the door. Then a pause, like whoever was inside was preparing something.

The door unlocked. Opened.

"Come in," a woman's voice said.

He stepped forward, crossing the threshold into the cottage. Immediately the air changed. Thicker. Pressing against him in a way that had nothing to do with the human world's natural rejection. Wards. Active magical barriers designed to cause pain to anyone the caster deemed a threat.

The burn in his bones intensified, sharpening from background ache to something more immediate. Not unbearable yet, but present. A warning.

The beast snarled. Trap. She's trapped us. Kill her and break free.

Kieran ignored it, focusing instead on the woman who'd let him in.

An Elder. Hair pulled back, posture straight despite her age. Arms crossed, standing behind what looked like a painted sigil on the floor. A barrier within a barrier. Smart.

Her eyes were sharp, assessing him the same way he was assessing her.

"I thought your kind wanted that family dead. Why are you wasting time looking for answers your people already came up with?"

Straight to the point then. No pretense.

"Let me add that if you do try to kill me, you won't get far in this house without feeling worse pain than you are feeling right now. I also have contacts who are aware of your presence. They will make sure you go back to where you came from."

Kieran stayed where he was, just inside the door. Close enough to talk, far enough that he wasn't crowding her space. The wards pressed against him like a hand on his chest, promising exactly what she'd threatened.

"The answers my people came up with are wrong," he said flatly. "Arthur Winslow is dead. The curse is still intact. Seven generations of hunting, forty-four deaths, and nothing's changed."

He shifted the satchel on his shoulder slightly, feeling the weight of Arthur's journals inside.

"So either the theory was flawed from the start, or we've been missing something critical. Either way, I'm not interested in adding more names to my list until I know what I'm actually accomplishing."

The beast raged at that admission. Traitor. Weak. The Mothers gave us purpose and we're questioning it.

The woman studied him for a long moment. Kieran could smell her wariness, her calculation. She was afraid, he could tell that much, but she was controlling it well. Decades of practice, probably.

"The girl," he continued. "Evelyn. She was here. Her scent leads right to your door. Then there was another magical discharge and she left." His eyes narrowed slightly. "You sent her away. Protected her, or got rid of a witness. I need to know which."

He paused, then added with deliberate honesty: "And I need to know why Arthur died trying to keep her magic suppressed. What was he hiding? What makes her important enough that an old warlock would kill himself rather than let her power show?"

The sirens were very close now. Maybe a minute out.

"Your contacts can try sending me home if they want," Kieran said, acknowledging her threat without fear. "But I have three days before my clan pulls me back anyway. Three days to figure out if the last twelve years of my life have been wasted on a fundamentally broken mission. So you can answer my questions, or I can spend those three days tearing apart every piece of information Arthur left behind until I find the answers myself."

He met her eyes directly. His were still faintly red, the beast too close to the surface for them to fade back to amber.

"I'm not here to kill you. I'm not here to kill Evelyn. Not yet, anyway. I'm here because something about this entire situation is wrong and I need to understand what."

The pain from the wards was getting worse. Steady, insistent pressure building in his chest and head. He could probably last another few minutes before it became genuinely debilitating, but not much longer than that.

"So I'll ask again: Why was Evelyn here? What did you tell her? And what do you know about what Arthur was trying to accomplish?"

Outside, red and blue lights began flashing through the windows. The authorities had arrived at Arthur's house next door. Voices calling out, car doors slamming. The investigation beginning.

Kieran didn't move. Didn't look away from the elderly witch standing behind her protective sigil.

He'd come for answers. He wasn't leaving without at least some of them.​

 

[Chaotic_Emerald]

​

---

Evelyn couldn't concentrate on the book, her glance shifting to the front door every other minute. She was afraid the man would find her here. How he would be able to, she didn't know. But what she did know is that anything was possible at this point. Like how she sent him flying, how she shocked Catherine, and lit the desk on fire before somehow putting it out.

As her thoughts started getting overwhelming, she closed the book and set it aside, afraid of setting it on fire or explode it. There always seemed to be some sort of event to occur when she was overwhelmed.

A knock on the front door startled her, looking at the time it could've been anyone. Panic started to settle in her chest. Was this him? No. It couldn't be. He wouldn't knock to be let in if he wanted to kill her.

Another set of knocks sounded through the door. Evelyn just stared at the door, hoping whoever it was would just go away. Maybe they'd think no one was home...right? But instead June came out from her room, "Who is that...? Why aren't you getting the door Lynn?" She frowned once she saw Evelyn staring the door down. Evelyn didn't respond, simply keeping her focus on the door. June let out a sigh, continuing towards the door, opening it when she got there. "Oh...hello officer."

It was an officer...but June said they wouldn't be coming until tomorrow. Why were they here all of a sudden?

The officer cleared his throat, nodding towards June before turning his attention to Evelyn. "I need a word with Miss Winslow...if you have a moment." He spoke with control, as if it was truly important. Maybe they found out how her grandfather died. As if sensing her worry he quickly added, "It can wait. I'm just here to check on you."

Evelyn hesitated before nodding, standing up and walking to go step outside with the officer. June offered her friend a smile before shutting the door and most likely going to sit and wait or go lie back down. "Did you guys find out what happened to my grandfather?" She asked, wrapping her arms around her as she studied the officer. Something seemed...off about him.

And sure enough his demeanor changed from one of professional concern to one of demand, "Where are the journals?" He asked. "You have the journals, don't you?"

Evelyn shook her head, "I-I'm sorry I don't know what you're talking about. I didn't even know my grandfather kept journals. Wait what does this have to do with anything? My grandfather is dead! His belongings are the least of my worries. The killer is still out there!" This man was not an officer, he couldn't be. Was this the killer? No. This man's eyes were brown. Not red.

The man grumbled something under his breath, a curse it sounded like. He pulled out his phone, sending a text to someone before looking back at Evelyn, then back at his phone. What was going on? Who was this man? Putting his phone away he shook his head, "You need to find those journals. The wolf cannot get his hands on them. They cannot learn how to break the veil. Find them." Then he turned to leave.

Evelyn tried to stop him and get more answers, "Wait! What are you talking about? What journals? What do you mean by wolf? What's the veil? Hey! Answer me! You can't just spew nonsense then leave. I don't understand!" He ignored her, walking towards his car and taking off. She stood in the driveway, confused more than ever. What was so important about some journals? She let out a loud groan in frustration, and the ground beneath her shook slightly, thunder sounding off in the distance. Not again. Taking a few deep breaths, she calmed herself down before walking back inside.

Now she had more questions than she did minutes before that guy showed up. June looked at her confused, "Is everything okay? I heard you shout something." Evelyn shook her head, stating that they hadn't found the killer yet and she was merely upset with that. Which wasn't a total lie, she was upset about that. But she wasn't going to tell June everything, the girl didn't even seem to have noticed what happened afterwards. Or if she did, she didn't acknowledge it.

So she just went to go lie back down. Eventually she would fall asleep.
-----------------

​

---

Catherine couldn't help but scoff at his first words

"The answers my people came up with are wrong,"
"No shit they're wrong. If the veil was held by the fact that the bloodline was still standing, each time you killed one of them off it would weaken. The strain wouldn't be so powerful as it had been when it was initially put into place." She was almost amused that the wolves hadn't figured that out by now. But then again, they weren't as well-versed in the knowledge of magic compared to witches. It was still amusing nonetheless.

It was also surprising that now the wolves decided to stop killing and instead start asking. They never exactly asked before they started killing off witches. So now it's a concern all of a sudden. "If your kind's theories were correct, you'd not only feel the pressure slowly lift, but you'd also need to kill the girl since she's a part of the bloodline. But unfortunately for you and your people, if you kill her, that spell will never be undone." It was clear that Catherine couldn't care if Evelyn died for it would mean that the werewolves would never be able to come near the humans without suffering. But she had to care for the damn child, so of course to keep her alive she had to tell him the truth. So he wouldn't kill the girl.

"You sent her away. Protected her, or got rid of a witness. I need to know which."
This wolf sure had a lot of confidence showing up like this at the house of an elder witch and acting like he had power. While she was rusty in her magic, that doesn't mean she can't fuck him up. It wouldn't end well for either of them. She waited until he finished with his whole 'I need answers shtick' She wouldn't tell him everything as he would learn more than she could tell him in those journals that he nabbed from Arthur's belongings anyways.
"So I'll ask again: Why was Evelyn here? What did you tell her? And what do you know about what Arthur was trying to accomplish?"

Catherine shook her head, "I sent the girl away because I knew you wouldn't stop until you got to her. I guess I was wrong on that." She started out, trying to be a little careful on how to spoke to the murderous creature before her "I don't know what that family tried to accomplish by suppressing her magic. They were all foolish and I thought Arthur would be the one to actually teach her. Apparently, I was wrong about that as well." She shrugged.

She really wasn't sure why they suppressed the girl's magic. They could have protected her and taught her to control herself. Instead, they condemned her to a life where she had little to no chance of surviving in. "She doesn't know anything about what she is as I'm sure you're already aware. But she can't learn anything until the Council sees that she has those." Catherine gestures to the satchel on his shoulder, acknowledging that she knew what was inside. "Until then, you won't get what you want. She's your last hope of your people being allowed back into human society. Many other witches will stop at nothing to kill her now that they know she's the last one of the Winslow bloodline. They would love nothing more than to see your kind never return. So, I suggest you keep her alive rather than dead. And give those journals back. It's rude to steal from the dead."

She waves dismissively, making the sigil on the floor disappear. But it didn't get rid of the protective barrier, it pushed back to where it was. Meaning that it was stronger now, even where the wolf stood. That was her way of telling him to 'get out'.

 

[Froshimaru]

The ward pressure intensified immediately, pushing against Kieran like a physical force trying to shove him back toward the door. Catherine's dismissal was clear. But her words had given him more than she probably intended.

"Many other witches will stop at nothing to kill her now," Kieran repeated, his voice flat. "So it's not just my clan hunting her. There's a faction that wants the curse permanent."

The pieces were starting to fit together in a way that made his jaw tight with frustration. Political maneuvering. Competing interests. And Evelyn caught in the middle, powerful but completely ignorant of what she represented.

"The Council," he said, testing the word. "You mentioned a Council. Witch authority, I'm assuming. They need to see the journals before Evelyn can learn anything."

Catherine's expression didn't change, but her silence was confirmation enough.

The ward pressure was becoming genuinely painful now. Breathing took effort. The beast was screaming to leave, to get out before the magic did real damage. His eyes were burning red, unable to fade back to amber under this much stress.

"I'm not giving the journals back," Kieran said bluntly. "Not until I know what's in them. Whether your Council sees them first or I do, that's still being decided."

He took a step backward, toward the door. The pressure eased fractionally. Another step.

"But you're right about one thing. If she's the last Winslow, and other witches want her dead to keep the curse intact, then she needs protection." His voice carried an edge of bitter irony. "Strange position to be in. Spending twelve years hunting a bloodline, only to find out the last member is the only thing standing between my people and permanent exile."

He paused at the threshold, one hand on the doorframe. Outside, the authorities were swarming Arthur's house. Flashlights. Radio chatter. Crime scene tape going up.

"One more question," Kieran said, looking back at Catherine. "The fake officer who just left here. The one who told Evelyn to find the journals and keep them from 'the wolf.' Friend of yours?"

He'd heard the conversation from outside. Enhanced hearing picking up every word through the walls while he'd been dealing with Catherine. A man posing as police, demanding information about the journals, warning Evelyn about wolves getting their hands on them.

The same journals currently in Kieran's possession.

"Because if your people are this desperate to control what information gets out, I'm even more interested in what Arthur wrote."

The ward pressure spiked again, a clear warning. Catherine was done talking.

Kieran stepped fully outside, and the magical pressure released all at once. The relief was immediate, the burn in his bones dropping back down to just the constant ache of the human world's rejection.

He took a breath, steadying himself. The beast was furious, humiliated by the retreat, demanding they go back and finish what they'd started.

But they had what they needed. Information. Confirmation that the situation was more complex than the Council had known. And most importantly, confirmation that Evelyn Winslow was now the most valuable and most vulnerable person in a conflict that went far beyond clan vengeance.

Kieran melted back into the shadows between houses, avoiding the authorities still processing Arthur's scene. His phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, glanced at the screen.

A text from his mother: Status report. Now.

He typed back with his free hand while walking: Situation more complex than briefed. Multiple factions involved. Target is key to breaking curse, not maintaining it. Will report fully once I have complete information.

Her response came seconds later: You have 72 hours. Use them wisely.

Kieran pocketed the phone and found a quiet spot several blocks away, an abandoned building where he could sit undisturbed. He pulled Arthur's journals from the satchel, stacked them in chronological order based on the dates visible on the covers, and opened the oldest one.

Time to find out what seven generations of hunting had been missing.

The beast settled into watchful alertness, still angry but understanding that gathering information was its own kind of hunt.

Outside, night had fully fallen. The human world burned against his skin. And somewhere in this town, Evelyn Winslow was trying to make sense of powers she'd never known she had, while multiple factions positioned themselves around her like pieces on a board.​