PART ONE: THE SHIFTING SKIN
Lana woke gasping.
The world blinked in sterile white. Her pulse crashed through her ears, thunderous and raw, as her fingers curled into the thin hospital sheet beneath her. Cold air licked her bare shoulders. A monitoring wire clung to her collarbone.
No chandeliers. No blood. No Kieran.
Only the steady beep of a heart monitor and the low hum of fluorescent lights.
She sat up too fast. The ache in her muscles was electric—not pain, exactly. More like unused wiring crackling to life. Her skin was too tight. Her vision... too sharp. The medbay walls gleamed like glass knives. She could see her own reflection in the surgical steel across the room—except her reflection wasn't moving quite right. A heartbeat off. A blink too slow.
She flinched.
"You're stable," a synthetic voice announced.
She hadn't noticed the overhead speaker. "Vitals have returned to nominal. Regeneration complete. Subject LC-01: holding pattern confirmed."
Subject. Not patient.
She looked down.
A translucent IV line threaded into the inside of her arm. The fluid bag beside her glowed faintly blue. Stamped on its label: Regulator Type III — LC-01.
Lana.
LC. She yanked the needle out.
The skin around the puncture healed instantly.
Her breath caught.
This wasn't human healing.
She staggered to her feet. A thin paper gown clung to her sweat-slick skin. The room had no door handle on the inside. No windows. Just a touchscreen console and a camera in each corner, blinking red.
Her reflection—the wrong one—was still watching.
She crossed the room. Slowly. Lifted a hand.
The mirrored surface stayed blank for a beat.
Then her reflection blinked.
A full second late.
Her claws punched out of her fingertips before she knew she was afraid.
The medbay door hissed open.
And Jason stood there, wide-eyed, clutching a manila envelope to his chest.
---
PART TWO: EVELYN'S JOURNAL
"I shouldn't be here," Jason whispered, shoving the envelope into her hands. "They're monitoring everything."
Lana stared at him, chest still rising and falling too fast. Her claws retracted with effort, the pain sharp as she forced them back into her flesh. "What is this?"
"It was in Lab Nine. Hidden behind one of the wall panels." His eyes darted to the cameras. "We think it was meant for you. Kraven doesn't know I took it. Please don't say my name again."
He was gone before she could ask more.
Lana shut the door. The touchscreen blinked green as it sealed.
She opened the envelope.
Inside: a slim, battered leather-bound journal. Her mother's handwriting scrawled across the first page in ink faded almost to brown:
PROPERTY OF DR. EVELYN CARTER - LAB NINE
The pages smelled like antiseptic and lavender. Lana turned past sketches of gene sequences, charts comparing bloodline compatibility, temperature logs...
Then she found the words that made her blood turn cold:
Project: Second Eve
She read:
"Subject LC-01 presents ideal genetic pairing. Female gestation stabilized after three failed attempts. Hybrid potential: 94%. Observation: fetus responds to Alpha vocalization even in utero. Recommend separation post-birth. Affection increases imprinting risk."
Lana dropped the book.
It hit the floor with a slap that echoed.
She picked it up with shaking hands.
Next page:
"Noctis wants a weapon. Kieran wants a mate. Neither understands the risk. If she bonds with the Alpha, the bloodline becomes permanent. Unreversible. I will not let them use her. Even if it kills me."
The final entry was just a name:
Lana Carter.
Her fingers curled around the paper, tearing it at the edge.
So this was never about her resume. Never about the job.
They'd been watching her since the womb.
And her mother had known.
---
PART THREE: THE VISITOR
Security released her without ceremony. No Kraven. No warning. Just a nurse in pale blue scrubs handing her a sealed change of clothes and a Noctis-issued phone. No messages. No contacts. No time.
She dressed quickly. Everything fit perfectly.
They had her measurements before she even arrived.
Outside, the corridor was quiet. Too quiet. She turned the corner and almost collided with him.
Lysander Vex.
He wore midnight black. No tie. Shirt unbuttoned at the throat. The scar was visible just beneath the collarbone.
"Miss Carter," he said smoothly, as if they'd met a thousand times. "Walk with me."
She hesitated.
He smiled. "You're not in danger. Not yet."
She followed.
They didn't go far. A private executive lounge overlooked the city, its glass walls filtering the skyline into golds and silvers. Jazz played softly. No one else was there.
Lysander poured them both bourbon.
"This place used to be a vault," he said. "Now it hosts ghosts."
She didn't take the drink.
He set his glass down and studied her. "Your mother kept many secrets. Did she ever mention me?"
Lana shook her head slowly.
"That hurts. We were... close. Once." He sipped. "She believed in second chances. I believe in bloodlines."
She crossed her arms. "What do you want?"
"To offer you clarity. And a choice."
He handed her a silver box, no bigger than a book. Smooth, unmarked.
"Open this when you stop trusting Kieran."
She didn't take it.
Lysander leaned in slightly, his tone lowering.
"Project Full Moon wasn't designed to protect the pack. It was meant to produce one thing. One person. You."
Her jaw tightened.
"Your mother tried to erase the program. Kieran brought it back. They both lied. Only I'm still telling you the truth."
He rose.
"When you're ready, open the box."
And then he was gone.
---
PART FOUR: THE HUNGER WAKES
Her suite was too clean. Too quiet.
The walls hummed faintly, white noise masking nothing. She stood in the bathroom, staring at the mirror. Her reflection blinked on time now, but her irises still flickered gold when the light hit them right.
She ran the water. Splash. Breathe. Splash.
Then she saw it.
A message scratched into the condensation on the mirror. Four words:
"YOU KNOW IT'S TRUE."
She turned sharply. No one there.
She opened the silver box.
Inside:
A child's hairbrush. Pink plastic. A tiny sticker of a wolf faded on the back.
A Noctis file. Stamped CONFIDENTIAL: LC-01 BREEDING PROTOCOLS
She didn't open it. Not yet. Couldn't.
A low growl vibrated through the floor.
She stepped back into the suite.
Something moved behind the curtains.
The scent hit her.
Copper. Rot. Wet fur.
A failed hybrid lunged through the sheer fabric, claws extended.
Lana didn't scream.
She moved.
One twist, one slash—her claws out before she even thought. Blood spattered the walls. The thing fell, gurgling, twitching.
It had been carrying something.
A shard of glass.
Scratched into the surface: her own face. Eyes blacked out.
She stared. Her breath came ragged.
And then she howled.
Not in fear.
In instinct.
The hunger had woken.