Kael ran.
Not smart. Not planned. Just legs moving because standing still felt like dying.
The city blurred—streetlights smearing into yellow streaks, trash cans flashing past, his own breathing loud enough to drown out cars. Every block he expected sirens. Every shadow looked like the woman from the alley. Every heartbeat felt too big for his chest, like the thing inside was trying to punch its way out.
He didn't know where he was going.
He just knew he couldn't go back to the apartment. Couldn't go to the bar. Couldn't go anywhere that smelled like normal life.
His hands still felt wrong. Sticky. He wiped them on his jeans again and again until the denim darkened in streaks. The guy's face kept replaying—shock, pain, slack. Kael hadn't meant to hit that hard. Hadn't meant to keep hitting.
*Hadn't meant to like it.*
He cut through a park. Empty benches. Wet grass soaking his sneakers. The moon rode high now, fat and white, spilling light that felt personal. Like it was aimed right at him.
He stopped under a broken streetlamp. Bent over. Hands on knees. Trying to breathe without sounding like an animal.
That's when he smelled her.
Not perfume. Not sweat. Something sharper. Cleaner. Like rain on metal and pine and anger.
Kael straightened fast. Looked around.
Nothing.
Then a soft click—safety on a gun.
She stepped out from behind the oak twenty feet away.
Same dark hair. Same leather jacket. Different eyes now—narrow, cold, like she'd already decided something.
She held a pistol low but steady. Not pointed at him yet. Just ready.
"Kael," she said again.
He took a step back. Gravel crunched under his heel.
"How do you know my name?"
She didn't answer that. Instead she tilted her head toward the path behind him.
"They told me you'd come this way."
"Who's *they*?"
She didn't smile. Didn't frown. Just watched him like he was a wounded dog that might bite or might lie down and die.
"People who've been waiting a long time."
Kael's throat clicked when he swallowed. "I didn't ask for any of this."
"Nobody does." Her voice stayed flat. "Doesn't change the bill coming due."
He glanced at the gun. Small. Black. Looked real. "You gonna shoot me?"
"If I have to."
He almost laughed. A dry, cracked sound. "Great. First time I kill someone and the second person I meet wants to kill me back."
Her eyes flicked to his hands. To the drying blood. "That wasn't your first time."
He flinched. "What?"
"You've shifted before. Small. Unconscious. Little slips. Nightmares you couldn't explain. Strength you hid. Healing too fast. You just never let it finish."
Kael stared. The words landed like stones in his stomach.
He thought of the scars on his knuckles that disappeared overnight. The way he never got sick. The dreams where he ran on four legs and woke up tasting blood.
He shook his head. "You're crazy."
"Am I?" She took one step closer. Gun still low. "Or are you just late to the truth?"
He wanted to run again. Legs twitched. But something in her stare pinned him.
She spoke softer now. Almost careful. "You can't stay here. The scent's spreading. Hunters will smell it by morning. Other packs too. You're loud, Kael. Louder than you know."
"Packs?" His voice cracked on the word.
She nodded once. "You're not human. Not all the way. And you're not rogue anymore. They've claimed you."
"Who's *they*?"
She hesitated. First crack in the calm.
"Your family."
Kael felt the world tilt. "I don't have family."
"You do now."
He took another step back. "Bullshit."
She sighed. Like she was tired of this conversation already. "Your mother's name is Elysia. She left you in the city when you were three. Said it was safer. Said the pack would tear you apart if they knew what you carried."
Kael's ears rang. "Stop."
"She never stopped watching. Neither did we."
He pressed palms to his temples. "Stop."
The woman lowered the gun an inch. "I'm not here to hurt you. Not yet. I'm here to bring you in before someone else does."
"Bring me where?"
"Home."
He barked a laugh. "I don't have a home."
"You will tonight." She holstered the gun—slow, deliberate. "Or you'll be dead by dawn."
Kael looked at her. Really looked.
She was maybe twenty-five. Tired lines around her eyes. A thin scar curved under her jaw like someone had tried to open her throat once and failed. She stood balanced, ready, but not eager. Like she'd done this too many times.
"What's your name?" he asked.
She paused. Then: "Liora."
He repeated it in his head. Liora. Sounded like a warning.
"Why should I trust you?"
"You shouldn't." She shrugged one shoulder. "But you've got no one else right now. And the moon's still up. You feel it, don't you? Pulling. Burning."
He did. Skin too tight again. Bones aching. The same heat from the alley crawling back up his spine.
He clenched his fists. "If I go with you… what happens?"
"You meet the people who've been waiting to meet you. You learn what you are. You decide what you do next."
"And if I don't go?"
Her eyes went flat again. "Then I stop being polite."
Silence stretched. Wind moved the leaves above them. Somewhere far off a car horn blared—normal life, miles away.
Kael looked down at his stained hands.
Then back at her.
"I'm not going anywhere with someone who pulls a gun on me."
Liora studied him for a long beat.
Then she reached into her jacket.
Kael tensed.
She pulled out a phone. Tapped the screen. Turned it so he could see.
A photo.
A woman—older, dark hair streaked with silver, eyes the same gray-green as his. Holding a toddler. Smiling like the world hadn't broken yet.
Kael's breath stopped.
"That's her," Liora said quietly. "Elysia. Your mother. She asked me to find you. She said you'd fight. She said you'd hate her. She said to tell you she's sorry."
Kael couldn't look away from the photo.
The toddler was him.
He remembered that smile.
Faint. Buried. But real.
He dragged his eyes up to Liora.
"She's alive?"
Liora nodded once.
"She's waiting."
Kael felt something crack inside his chest. Not anger. Not fear.
Something softer. Something that hurt worse.
He took one step toward her.
Then another.
Liora didn't move. Didn't reach for the gun again.
She just watched.
When he was close enough to smell the pine on her jacket, he stopped.
"Lead the way," he said. Voice rough. "But if this is a trap…"
She met his stare.
"It's not a trap," she said.
Then softer—so soft he almost missed it:
"It's worse."
She turned and started walking.
Kael followed.
The moon stayed on his back the whole way.
Like it knew something he didn't.
And at the edge of the park, where the trees gave way to broken pavement and the first sign of wilderness beyond the city grid, Liora stopped.
She looked back at him.
One last time.
Eyes cold again.
"They told me you'd come this way," she said.
"They also told me to kill you on sight."
She didn't draw the gun.
But her hand rested on the grip.
And Kael realized he'd just walked straight into the cage.