The Registry reacted the moment Nyra crossed the threshold.
Suppressive wards crawled over her skin, searching for pack identifiers, bloodline signatures, Alpha clearance.
They found nothing.
Alarms screamed.
Technicians froze. Guards reached for weapons they didn't yet understand they wouldn't be fast enough to use.
A projection flared above Nyra's arm—forced into visibility.
[STATUS: UNREGISTERED LYCANTHROPE]
[PACK AFFILIATION: NONE]
[LUNA CLASSIFICATION: UNRESOLVED]
"That's not possible," an officer whispered. "All wolves are recorded."
Nyra didn't answer.
She felt it now—the pull of territory, the pressure of dominance structures pressing against her senses like invisible walls. Her wolf mapped the room instinctively.
Power had rules.
And packs enforced them with blood.
A presence entered.
Not loud.
Not rushed.
The room bent around him.
He wore black, his aura compressed so tightly it felt like standing at the edge of a cliff. His gaze locked onto Nyra's mark with precise, unsettling focus.
"So," he said quietly, "the Blood Protocol bypassed the packs."
Nyra met his eyes without lowering her chin.
"You marked me," she said.
"No," he replied. "The moon did."
That was worse.
"Unregistered Lunas destabilize hierarchy," he continued. "You understand what that makes you."
Nyra's lips curved—slow, deliberate.
"A problem," she said.
The interface flickered.
[OVERSIGHT CONFLICT DETECTED]
The man's expression sharpened.
Guards moved at his signal.
"Contain her."
The wards surged.
Then shattered.