The woods were still in that pale, haunted way just before dawn—neither night nor morning, the air heavy with fog and secrets. Logan followed Lila through the underbrush, the rifle slung across her back catching stray threads of moonlight.
Every step felt wrong. Too quiet. Too slow.
"We should've left hours ago," Logan muttered.
"Going in blind at night would've gotten us both killed," Lila replied, crouching to inspect a patch of flattened grass. "You want to charge into Bloodhowl territory half-cocked? Be my guest."
He said nothing, just adjusted the knife at his belt. That sigil blade felt heavier now, like it knew it would be needed.
Logan could smell everything—the damp earth, the sharp tang of moss, the faint iron of old blood carried on the breeze. His senses were still heightened, tuned to something primal he hadn't fully accepted.
Lila straightened. "Tracks heading east. Small feet. Barefoot."
"Juno?" Logan stepped forward.
"Maybe." She frowned. "But she's not alone."
Logan's heart kicked harder. "What do you mean?"
Lila pointed at deeper, wider prints beside the barefoot ones. "Something big. Heavy. Leading her—or chasing."
A low growl rumbled in Logan's throat before he caught himself.
"You're shifting," Lila warned, stepping back.
He swallowed hard, pushing the wolf back down. "I've got control."
"For now," she muttered.
They moved east, following the trail deeper into Black Hollow. The trees pressed tighter around them, limbs gnarled like reaching hands. Shadows clung stubbornly even as the sun began to rise, a weak orange glow bleeding through the mist.
Then they smelled it.
"Blood," Logan said grimly.
Lila nodded, her jaw tight. "Fresh."
They found it at the base of a ravine—a splatter across the rocks, dark and glistening. More barefoot prints around it, smeared and frantic.
"She was hurt," Logan murmured.
"Or someone was trying to make it look that way," Lila countered, scanning the surroundings. "The Bloodhowl are cruel, but they're not messy. This feels staged."
Logan crouched, touching the blood with two fingers. Still warm. Not dried. "Then where is she?"
A soft whimper echoed through the trees.
Both froze.
It came again—higher, almost childlike.
"Juno?" Logan called, voice low but urgent.
No answer.
"Don't," Lila warned. "That's not—"
The cry came again. Closer.
Logan was already moving. His instincts pulling him forward, faster, heart hammering.
He crested a small ridge—and stopped dead.
Below him stood a girl. Pale, barefoot, wrapped in a thin, torn hoodie. She turned slowly, eyes wide and shining with tears.
"Juno," Logan breathed.
She smiled.
Something was wrong with her smile.
Her lips parted, and what came out wasn't a girl's voice.
It was a growl. A layered, broken sound, like two voices trying to speak through one throat.
"Logan…" it rasped. "You shouldn't… have come."
Lila caught up beside him, rifle raised. "Back away."
"Juno?" Logan called again.
She staggered forward—then dropped to her knees, clutching her head. "It hurts," she whimpered. "Make it stop."
Logan's chest twisted. "We're here to help—"
"Get away from her!" Lila shouted.
A flicker of movement.
Juno's shadow stretched unnaturally across the ground, twisting, rippling like black oil. Something crawled inside it. Eyes. Claws.
Logan's breath caught.
"Not her shadow," Lila snarled. "Its shadow."
The thing beneath Juno erupted from the ground—sleek and monstrous, all sinew and teeth, a nightmare given shape. It coiled around her like a serpent, tendrils latching onto her limbs.
She screamed.
Logan didn't hesitate. He drew the sigil blade and charged.
The creature hissed, baring rows of jagged teeth. Its tendrils lashed at him, snapping like whips. The blade met them, slicing clean, each strike sending black ichor spraying across the rocks.
But more replaced them.
"Cut the anchor!" Lila shouted.
"What anchor?" Logan yelled, ducking a strike.
"The sigil! Look for the mark!"
Logan's eyes darted over the creature—then he saw it. A symbol burned into its chest, glowing faintly red beneath the swirling mass of shadow.
He lunged, driving the blade deep into the sigil.
The creature shrieked, the sound splitting the air. The tendrils recoiled. Juno collapsed, freed from its grip.
The shadow writhed, convulsed—then shattered like glass, dissolving into smoke.
Silence fell.
Logan dropped to his knees beside Juno, chest heaving. She was unconscious but breathing.
"What the hell was that?" he panted.
Lila lowered her rifle, approaching warily. "A Shadowbind. Bloodhowl uses them to possess or contain prey. It was feeding off her."
Logan brushed hair from Juno's face. "Is she… turning?"
"No," Lila said softly. "But they marked her for something."
Logan's stomach sank. "What?"
Lila's gaze was distant, grim. "A vessel."
Juno stirred, murmuring something under her breath.
Logan leaned closer. "What is it, kid?"
Her eyes fluttered open—clouded, pale, not quite seeing him.
"They're coming," she whispered. "They're already here."
The ground beneath them trembled.
A howl split the dawn air. Not distant this time.
Close.
Too close.
Lila raised her rifle again. "We need to move. Now."
Logan scooped Juno into his arms, muscles screaming with effort. "Where?"
"Anywhere they're not," Lila growled, leading the way.
As they fled back into the trees, Logan looked once over his shoulder—back at the place where the shadow had been.
Nothing remained.
But in the fading mist, he thought he saw eyes. Watching.
Waiting.
And a voice, distant, hollow, curling like smoke in his mind:
"Blood calls to blood. The beast is awake."