Wednesday – 10:03 a.m.
The underground base was alive with quiet intensity. Mounted monitors flickered along the stone walls, flooding the vast control room with shifting hues of blue and red. Tactical maps glowed across three panels, each representing the core estates of the werewolf families: the Thornes, the Riveras, and the Gryphons.
Cassius Vane stood still, hands folded behind his back, eyes narrowed at the digital feed. One monitor looped drone footage of the Gryphon estate, thermal signatures shifting subtly between walls. Another screen flicked through encrypted comms from Moonstone's local grid, intercepted and decrypted, thanks to months of quiet groundwork. The Thornes were the slipperiest. Always paranoid. Always hiding behind clean ledgers and empty warehouses.
Until now.
Cassius didn't flinch when the steel doors behind him hissed open. He didn't need to turn to know it was John.
"You're two days late," Cassius said calmly, eyes still fixed on the data streams. His voice carried the soft chill of discipline, not disappointment.
John stepped in, a little too casually, wiping faint sweat from his brow with the back of his wrist. "Had to make sure it was worth your time."
Cassius didn't move. "It better be."
John gave a short exhale, tried to make it sound like a laugh. "I think you'll like it."
He reached into his jacket, pulling out an envelope, plain and slightly creased. From inside, he produced a neatly folded printout. The handwriting was jagged and quick, scanned from the original letter he'd swiped with his spy glasses. He stepped forward and extended the sheet. Cassius took it without looking, finally shifting his weight.
For a few seconds, the only sound in the room was the low hum of the monitors and the occasional ping from the console behind them. Cassius's eyes flicked across the print. Line by line. And then—
A smirk.
It was small, but real. And in Cassius Vane's world, that meant something very bad was about to happen.
He turned slowly. The dim overhead lights cast shadows under his sharp jawline and cut across the scar at his temple. "Tell me you've already confirmed this."
John nodded once, masking the flicker of nervous pride behind a professional posture. "Every detail checks out. He found the warehouse yesterday. Took pictures. Logged everything."
"Good," Cassius said simply, folding the letter and tucking it into his coat.
Without missing a beat, he raised his hand toward the ops center stationed across the room. A soldier manning the terminal snapped to attention.
"Shift our primary target. Focus on the Gryphon estate. I want eyes on them. Physical, not just digital. I want to know where they eat, when they sleep, and who they talk to."
"Yes, sir."
Another team member, Eli, one of Cassius's top tacticians, pivoted from the interactive display table. "Should we reroute the recon drones?"
Cassius nodded. "And start compiling personnel profiles. All of them. Servants, security, even the gardener. Especially the gardener."
John leaned against a stone pillar nearby, watching the team spring into action. "So... does this mean we're on?"
Cassius stared back at the screen. The Gryphon estate blueprint rotated, revealing highlighted blind spots and recent movement logs.
"Six days," he said, almost to himself. "That gives us two days after the full moon. Just enough time for them to start feeling human again."
John raised a brow. "Isn't that when they're strongest?"
"No," Cassius murmured. "That's when they're cocky."
He stepped back to the table, glancing at the rotating intel maps again. The inside contacts they had embedded were already feeding updates, minor shifts in patrols, unexplained packages delivered under aliases, subtle purchase orders from distant towns. Everything was adding up. Slowly. Quietly.
Cassius allowed a moment of satisfaction. Then turned to John.
"You did well."
It wasn't much. But from Cassius, it meant everything.
John allowed himself a faint grin. "Happy to help."
But something in his smile didn't reach his eyes. And Cassius noticed. He always noticed.
Still, he let it go, for now.
Cassius returned to his original position at the head of the control table. "Monitor every move. No alerts. No heat. We're not ready to strike yet."
John gave a half salute and turned to leave, boots echoing faintly on the stone floor.
As he walked away, Cassius reached into his coat, running his thumb across the folded letter one more time.
The Gryphons had always been ghosts in the system. A whisper. A rumor. A rotting legacy pretending to be noble. He'd spent years poking at the edges, waiting for something solid.
Now they had it.
He turned to Eli again. "Double the intel team. No leaks. No mistakes."
Eli nodded, typing commands into the console. The digital maps zoomed closer.
And for the first time in years, Cassius Vane smiled.
But it wasn't joy.
It was clarity.
***
The sun was high above the academy, casting warm golden light across the upper balcony of the school garden. Up here, away from the noise of the school corridors and the chaos of Club Week preparations, the air felt clearer. A few bees floated lazily over the blossoms. Somewhere below, the low hum of lunchtime conversation filtered upward, but none of it touched the garden.
Aiva stood in the center of it all, hose in hand, watering the last of her bonsai arrangements. The spray arched gently through the air, droplets catching the sunlight like tiny diamonds. The scent of damp earth and crushed lavender clung to the breeze. She was focused, careful, her dark hair tied in a low knot, sleeves rolled to the elbow. Her fingers brushed across the petals of a rare flower she'd brought in just yesterday, a soft coral pink with silvery veins along its edges. She paused.
It reminded her.
The middle school boy.
She exhaled slowly, her chest tightening with the memory. The fear in his eyes. The way they had cornered him. She remembered the look on of the bully's face too. Ugly. Entitled. That moment had been a risk. But she had stepped in anyway. She had to. No one else would have. It was the right thing to do.
Her hands gently returned the pot to its ledge.
Then the door slammed open.
She flinched.
Heavy footsteps echoed against the stone balcony floor as a group of boys flooded in. Six, maybe seven of them. At their center: Harris. Taller than the rest. Built like a linebacker. His uniform slightly wrinkled, that same cocky grin twisting his face.
"Well, well. Thought we'd pay the little flower girl a visit," he sneered, sweeping his eyes across the garden. "Pretty setup you got here."
Aiva stepped back instinctively, her voice catching in her throat. "This is a school club space. You're not supposed to be here."
One of the boys chuckled. Another moved to a pot and, without hesitation, knocked it off the ledge with his elbow. It shattered on the ground, soil scattering like spilled blood.
Aiva's breath hitched. "Hey! Stop!"
A second pot was kicked over. Then a third.
She reached into her jacket pocket for her phone, heart pounding. Before she could unlock the screen, a hand gripped her wrist hard.
"Looking for this?" The voice was cold and smug. The same boy from the previous day. He held up her phone, having snatched it in the scuffle.
"Give it back!" she demanded.
Another pair of hands grabbed her from behind. Strong. Cruel. One of the boys restrained her arms while another pinned her shoulders.
Panic surged.
Harris stepped closer, smiling, his eyes scanning her like a predator. "You've been sticking your nose where it doesn't belong, sweetheart."
Harris grinned, eyes narrowing with sick amusement as he stepped in close—too close. The broken flowerpots crunched under his boots. Aiva flinched, her back pressing against the wooden garden table, nowhere else to go. Two of the boys held her arms tight, pinning her like she was nothing but a trophy waiting to be claimed.
"You always wear these skirts like you're begging for it," Harris sneered, voice low, venomous.
"Get away from me," Aiva breathed, her voice trembling. She glanced at the boy with her phone, he was pocketing it now, giving her a smug look like he'd won something.
She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. But her voice was caught somewhere deep, choked by the panic rising in her chest. Her heart slammed against her ribs as Harris reached for her waist.
"You'll get in trouble," she managed. "You can't—"
"I wonder how? there aren't any cameras here sweetheart." Harris said with a sly smile. "Unless you've got some proof we were here in the first place"
Aiva went silent, she knew Harris was right. Until she had definitive proof, she could bring this matter to the student council. The school was dark that way
"I'll get you expelled." she threatened.
"We both know you won't," he cut her off, smiling as he gripped the hem of her skirt.
But just as his fingers curled under the fabric—
A whisper.
One of the boys leaned in quickly, murmuring something fast into Harris's ear. Harris froze, brows knitting. His expression darkened, not in guilt or hesitation, but calculation. His jaw clenched and with a flick of his wrist, he pulled away.
"Change of plans," he muttered. "Keep breaking her shit. I'll deal with her later."
He turned to the two boys restraining Aiva. "You three stay. Have fun."
Without another word, Harris and three others walked out through the garden door, boots heavy, loud. The moment the door clicked shut behind them, it was like the air grew thicker, heavier.
Aiva sagged slightly between the two that held her, her knees weak. She was trembling now, less from fear, more from something inside, waking up, clawing at her. A dark whisper echoed within her mind, soft like silk but cold like steel. Let me handle it.
She clenched her jaw. No. Not again.
The remaining boy, the one who'd pocketed her phone, crouched down and grabbed another pot, smashing it theatrically against the stone tiles.
"Oops. My bad," he smirked, glancing over his shoulder. "Kinda fragile, huh?"
Then he turned to Aiva, the grin still plastered across his face. "Your boyfriend isn't here now, is he? Maybe I'll take a little look for myself."
He moved toward her, fingers twitching like he couldn't decide where to touch first.
Aiva's breath hitched. She thrashed again. "Don't touch me!"
Suddenly—
"HEY!"
The door slammed open so hard it rebounded off the hinge.
The three boys jerked toward the sound.
Adam stood there, his chest heaving, eyes wide. He'd only come up the stairs out of vague curiosity, but what he saw lit a fire in him hotter than anything he'd felt in days.
He didn't ask questions.
He charged forward.
The boy nearest to Aiva turned just in time to catch Adam's fist straight to the cheekbone. The crack echoed in the greenhouse-like garden room. The boy collapsed into a mess of broken ceramics and petals.
The two others released Aiva instantly, stumbling back.
One of them growled, "You messed up now, freak."
Adam stepped in front of Aiva protectively, arms raised. His breathing was steady now, too steady.
He dropped into a Krav Maga stance—feet shoulder-width apart, left foot slightly forward, elbows in close, fists guarding his face. His eyes locked onto the two remaining boys with razor focus. There was no panic in him now. Just cold intention.
"Leave," Adam warned.
They didn't.
The first came rushing in with a wild haymaker. Adam sidestepped, grabbed his wrist mid-swing, and slammed the boy's elbow down onto his raised knee with a thud that made the idiot howl.
The second lunged.
Adam turned sharply and kicked him in the thigh, a stunning blow that made the guy buckle. Before he could recover, Adam landed a precise elbow strike to his temple, sending him staggering.
One of the others, still conscious, tried to come back for a cheap shot from behind, but Adam pivoted and threw his weight into a shoulder check, knocking the guy into a low table which split beneath his weight.
In seconds, the air was filled with groans and the sharp, bitter scent of dirt and spilled water.
The last boy standing panted, nose bleeding. "You're gonna regret this," he spat, backing away.
Adam didn't answer. He simply watched.
All three of them scrambled out, hobbling, cursing, and bruised.
And then, finally, silence.
Shattered pots littered the ground. Soil spilled like black blood. The scent of crushed rosemary and jasmine was everywhere. Aiva stood behind him, her arms folded tightly over her chest, still trying to hold herself together.
Adam stood awkwardly by the ruined garden, his eyes flicking between the shattered pots and Aiva's still, pale face. The shock in her eyes was raw, like a frozen lake just starting to crack. For a moment, words failed him. What could he say? How do you fix something this sudden, this cruel?
Without thinking much, he stepped forward and pulled her into a gentle hug. His arms wrapped around her cautiously, as if afraid she might shatter like the pottery underfoot.
Aiva froze for a heartbeat, stiff and unresponsive. Then slowly, hesitantly, she wrapped her arms around him. A soft, shaky breath escaped her, and tears began to streak down her cheeks. Quiet sobs, barely audible, broke the silence.
Adam stayed still, not saying a word. His presence was his only comfort, steady and warm. After a few minutes, the rawness seemed to ebb away just a little, and the garden, the smashed pots, the bullying, all of it faded into the background.
They moved together through the mess. Adam swept the dirt and leaves from the paths, his movements slow and methodical. Aiva bent low to pick up the broken shards of terracotta, her fingers tracing the jagged edges.
"Why did they come for you?" Adam asked softly, breaking the silence.
Aiva didn't look up right away. Her voice was quiet but steady. "Because I helped that kid. The one they were bullying Yesterday. They didn't like that."
Adam frowned. "You should report them. Get them expelled or something."
Aiva shook her head. "It's not that simple here. This school tries to run like the real world. There's a student court system, lawyers, evidence, everything. If I pressed charges, I'd have to prove it beyond doubt."
Adam gestured to the ruined garden. "Isn't this enough proof?"
She gave a small, bitter smile. "Harris is smart. He knows there aren't any cameras here. No witnesses either, not really. He only did this where no one can see. Even if someone saw, it's their word against his."
Adam's jaw tightened. "I'll be your witness. I saw them, and I'm not afraid to say so."
Aiva looked at him, eyes tired but firm. "I can't let you get involved. This kind of thing drags people down, makes them targets too. You don't need that."
Adam insisted again, voice low but steady, but she shook her head with finality. "I'll handle it. Trust me."
The moment hung thick between them, fragile and unspoken. Then Bryce appeared, slipping into the space with his usual calm confidence. His arms went around Aiva, pulling her close. "What happened here?"
Aiva's voice lifted with a practiced lightness, a mask slipping back into place. "Nothing serious. Just some troublemakers. The important plants are still alive. I'll replant once I get new pots."
Bryce's eyes searched hers, concern barely hidden, but he let it drop. "If you say so."
Adam felt the weight of the moment, the quiet distance growing between Aiva and Bryce, the way she deflected even him. The gentle undercurrent of something unsettled, something neither was ready to face.
Feeling he'd done all he could, Adam nodded to himself and quietly stepped away, leaving the two of them alone in the fragile garden.
***
The classroom door creaked softly as Adam stepped inside, the late afternoon sun slanting through the tall windows and casting warm golden bars across the floor. The buzz from the hallway faded behind him, replaced by the quiet hum of empty desks and scattered papers.
He moved to his usual seat near the window, the one he'd claimed since his first day, where the light always hit just right and the world outside felt a little more distant. His mind, however, was still stuck up on that balcony.
The memory of Aiva, shaking, tear-streaked, clutching broken pottery in her arms, played on loop. Her scent of damp earth and jasmine still clung to him. He could feel the ghost of her arms around him, the weight of her silent trust. He didn't know why it hit so hard, but it did.
With a quiet exhale, he reached for his bag to pack up for the study session with Abigail. Books slid into his rucksack with methodical care, one by one. He welcomed the rhythm. Routine helped.
Then his hand brushed against something unfamiliar.
Paper.
Not his notes.
He slowly pulled it free. It was folded three times. No name. No markings. Just a silent, waiting threat.
He hesitated, then unfolded it.
The handwriting was tight, slanted, like it had been scrawled in a hurry by someone trying to stay calm.
"You're not a hero. You were late.
And I got what I needed.
One photo is enough. Aiva's panties, bare skin, full view.
She won't even know what hit her.
Unless you come alone to the abandoned locker room, middle school wing.
By 3:30pm.
If not, the pictures go live on the student media page.
Everyone will see them.
Tick tock."
Adam's heart slammed into his ribs.
His mouth dried.
He read the letter again. And again.
No name. No signature. Just venom on a page.
His gaze flicked around the classroom, suddenly hyper-aware of every creak in the building, every flutter of paper.
This was real. Someone had followed him. Someone had planned this.
His chest tightened as the air around him seemed to grow heavier. He tried to steady his breathing, but the sharp flare of fury and helplessness kept rising.
Aiva didn't deserve this.
She'd already been through enough.
He thought of her broken smile, the way she had tried so hard to stay strong today. And now this?
The clock ticked above him, loud and clear. 3:22 PM.
Adam clenched the paper, crumpling it in his fist.
No way he was letting this happen.
He grabbed his bag and stood, his chair scraping quietly against the floor.
He didn't know what he'd find down there. But whatever it was, he was walking in alone.
Because if he didn't, she'd be ruined.
And that was something he wouldn't let happen.
Not to her.
Not on his watch.