The instant we crossed that door, the crystal on Mrs. Leonardo's desk flared to life, flooding her office with blinding white light.
She jolted awake at her chair—only to feel a sharp tap on her shoulder. One of the school's scouts loomed over her, eyes wide.
"Ma'am!" He stepped aside, pointing at the crystal as if it might explode.
Her gaze locked on it. "How did I sleep through this?" she muttered, shooting a glance at the wall clock. Midnight. The alarm began to howl through the halls, its metallic wail unending.
A shadow slipped across her balcony. The scout whipped up his rifle and fired—
—but the figure rolled forward in a blur, the bullet shattering the night behind him.
"Wait, don't shoot!" he shouted, springing to his feet.
Mrs. Leonardo's eyes narrowed. "Tristan?"
"I came to warn you!" He held his hands high. "Monroe's men will be here within an hour!"
She flicked her hand, and the scout lowered his weapon. "How do you know this?"
"Uncle Kace says," Tristan said, breathing fast. "Never take your eyes off an enemy—especially one you've betrayed. But there's no time for details." His gaze darted to the crystal. "I could've walked in through the main gate, but I had to trigger the alarm. You need to get ready."
Mrs. Leonardo stepped closer, her expression hardening. "I have a task for you."
At her instructions, Tristan pressed his two fingers to the crystal. The moment he touched it, a jolt ripped through him—his head snapped up, eyes blazing with visions.
He saw us—me, Shawn, Liam, Robin—in danger. And he knew exactly where to find us.
Outside, Odon's force. The school's walls sank into shadow as guards stood on the towers. Marching beside each of Odon's soldiers was a cloaked woman. One by one, the women stepped forward, their hoods falling back. They raised their hands and began to hum—voices as sweet as lullabies, weaving a melody so beautiful it made the skin crawl.
The guards on the towers slumped forward, breathing deeply in sudden, unnatural sleep.
A stealth mission.
The intruders moved quickly, covering the grounds in seconds. The main gate sentries were already unconscious, their weapons lying forgotten in the grass. With a faint whisper, the iron gates groaned open.
Inside, the school was cloaked in silence—too still, too dark—save for a faint melody drifting from one student's room.
They crept forward, keeping to the shadows. Then—
A shift underfoot.
A groan of metal.
Light blazed.
A cage dropped from above, slamming into the ground. One intruder was caught mid-scream as a blade from the bars drove through his head, pinning him in place. The rest stumbled back—trapped.
Mrs. Leonardo stepped into the glow, a crossbow in her hands, eyes glinting. "Getting stabbed in the back by the same enemy twice?" she said with a thin smile. "That makes you a loser."
One of the captives—a red-haired woman—smirked. "You think a toy cage and a bow will scare us?"
"Sweetheart," Mrs. Leonardo said, drawing her aim, "that's not for you."
She loosed an arrow. It struck the bars, crackling with electric current. The red-haired witch jerked violently, her smile twisting into a hiss.
"We're witches," she spat. "You can't hold us." She nodded to her partner.
The second witch moved her hands, body flickering—half of her blinked outside the bars before splitting in half, the rest collapsing inside the cage.
Mrs. Leonardo tilted her head, lips curling. "Too bad you underestimated me. That arrow you just felt? It scrambles your powers. You can cast anything you like… but it'll malfunction just enough. Like baking a perfect cake but adding salt instead of sugar."
She folded her arms. "Now—let's skip the small talk. You're not here for a fight. And you're sure as hell not here for a slumber party."
Witch had no interest in answering.
"Torture them. Make them speak. Let them feel every drop of pain they poured into my niece," Mrs. Leonardo snarled, her face tight with hatred.
The witch drew her blade—then, without warning, turned it on her own. Steel flashed. One ally fell, then another. By the time anyone reacted, only the werewolves remained.
"Stop!" Ryan fired, the shot shattering the knife from her grip.
"You killed your own people," he said, stunned.
"They would have talked. I won't," she said, clutching her bleeding hand. Her lips curled. "Now, my boys—begin."
The werewolves circled her. The sound reached them first—wet, stretching, like leather tearing under strain.
One of the men doubled over, their breath hitching in short, animalistic grunts, fingers curling as if clutching at an invisible thread. The nails blackened, lengthened, splitting the skin at the edges.
A twitch rippled up their spine, every vertebra pressing against the skin as though something inside was forcing its way out. Their jaws jerked sideways with a sharp crack, teeth crowding and jutting like white shards of broken glass.
Hair sprouted in uneven bursts, bristling under the skin before breaking through, glistening with a faint sheen as though damp from within. The eyes clouded, then cleared with a sudden, unnatural redness, too hungry.
Their clothes tore not all at once, but in slow, irregular bursts, fabric straining at unnatural angles before giving way. In the shifting shapes of their shadows, the men no longer looked human—elongated limbs bending in ways bones should never bend.
The air itself seemed to retreat from them, carrying with it a faint metallic scent, sharp enough to sting the back of the throat. Then—together—they slammed their fists into the ground.
"What the hell are they doing?" Ryan's voice was tight.
The floor cracked beneath them, the sound growing like splitting ice.
"They're opening a way below!" Mrs. Leonardo's face blanched. "Remove the barrier!"
Ryan crossed his fingers, muttering, and the cage lifted.
The moment it did, the werewolves lunged at Mrs. Leonardo. Scouts surged forward with swords, steel clashing against claws. She twisted her arms, hurling fire that lit the room in violent bursts.
Movement caught her eye—red hair darting toward the stairs.
Mrs. Leonardo vaulted over an enemy with a cartwheel, landing in the witch's path. The woman raised her hands, but Ryan's spell snapped glowing cuffs around her wrists, locking her magic away.
Still, she was fast. She dodged every slash, running up the wall in a blur before springing off, her knee smashing into Mrs. Leonardo's jaw.
Her head snapped sideways, blood trailing from the corner of her mouth.
Mrs. Leonardo caught her before she could sprint up the stairs, seizing her ankle and yanking her down.
The woman hit the floor hard but rolled away, spinning left and right to evade the blade. She sprang to her feet with a clean somersault.
When Mrs. Leonardo struck again, the witch caught the sword between the chain of her cuffs, twisting the links until the steel was trapped. With a sudden jerk, she pulled Mrs. Leonardo forward, turning the blade toward her.
Metal pressed closer to Mrs. Leonardo's face. She fought back, teeth gritted, but the witch lunged—headbutting the false edge. The blade slid across Mrs. Leonardo's face in a long, burning cut, from forehead to chin, stopping just short of her eye.
Pain flared, but she didn't falter. She drove her knee into the hilt, sending the sword snapping upward. The witch's eyes flicked to the airborne blade—just long enough for Mrs. Leonardo to seize it and slam her knee under the witch's chin.
The blow lifted her off her feet; she crashed backward, skull cracking against the stairs. She went limp.
The fight had been brutal, but by its end, three men and one woman were in chains, each locked in their own cage in different rooms.