Lionel’s Diner sat tucked beneath a sagging awning at the edge of Bayou Mounds, a place where the smell of butter and frying shrimp clung to the walls and the regulars spoke in low, familiar voices. Derek and Olivia sat in a corner booth, sunlight filtering across the table through a dusty windowpane. Between them, two untouched plates of food cooled slowly.

  Olivia Hale pushed a strand of dark hair behind her ear and exhaled, her expression somewhere between guilt and the shadow of something she could not quite shake.

  “During Lycara’s run last year,” Derek said, breaking the silence, “you scared the hell out of me the first time I saw you as a werewolf.”

  Olivia let out a tired laugh. “Yeah? What did I look like?”

  “Your eyes were glowing green. Not normal green. Sharp, bright, unnatural. And you had fangs.” He tapped the side of his jaw. “Big ones.”

  Olivia leaned back in the booth, a half-smile forming. “That is crazy, hearing it out loud. I still have flashes of what I did when I was like that. I was vicious. I killed people who never stood a chance. That is what stays in my head. I remember wanting to stop, but the body kept moving. Like I was trapped behind glass.”

  Derek folded his arms, his voice softening. “I am just glad we did not have to kill you. Or Karen. I thought we were going to lose both of you.”

  Olivia nodded slowly. “We went through more than most people do in a lifetime. I am still trying to process it.”

  She paused, then surprised him with a confession.

  “You might disagree with this,” she said, her voice dropping. “But I kind of liked the powers that came with it.”

  Derek stared at her. “Seriously?”

  “Think about it,” Olivia said with a shrug. “No pain. Superhuman strength. I could move faster than I ever dreamed. Claws, senses, endurance. And shifting into a monster like you and Sheryl... it was terrifying, but the adrenaline was unreal.”

  Derek shook his head. “Yeah, I remember the sugar fields.”

  Olivia groaned. “Do not remind me.”

  “You jumped me out of nowhere,” he said. “We almost killed each other that night.”

  She raised her hands in surrender. “I was not myself. Trust me, I still feel awful about it.”

  “But you got your life back,” Derek said. “You should be glad. My mom can barely pretend to live a normal life. She takes the entire day off after every full moon just to recover. She plays it off as being tired. Nobody questions it yet.”

  “And you?” Olivia asked.

  Derek sighed. “I have lion DNA in me now. That is not going away. I can control it, but it is always there. We are doing our best to make the most out of it.”

  Olivia rested her elbows on the table. “The hero business is never easy. You know that. You were infantry. Two combat tours overseas. You learned to survive by embracing chaos.”

  “That is true,” Derek said. “But this is a different kind of war.”

  Olivia smiled softly. “Maybe. Either way, I like working with you and your mother. Even if neither of you is a cop.”

  Despite everything they had survived, the bond between them remained strong. War buddies. Allies. Family in the ways that mattered.

  Outside the diner window, traffic rolled by in the Louisiana heat. Inside, Derek and Olivia lingered in the quiet, still tethered by memories that refused to fade.

  They did not yet know it, but this would be their last peaceful lunch for a very long time.

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  Michael Sorrenson spent the rest of the afternoon drifting through Bayou Mounds like a shadow. His black Tahoe glided past antique shops, bait shacks, and narrow neighborhoods that folded into each other like secrets. He studied every block, memorizing patrol routes, dead ends, and which streets stayed busy after sundown. The city looked calm, but Michael knew better. Bayou Mounds had always been a mask stretched over something ancient.

  His phone buzzed against the console.

  “Michael, update me,” Lucas Kain said.

  Michael kept his eyes on the street as he answered. “I’ve scanned the full perimeter: streets, alleys, escape routes, all of it. We should not have any issues with the extraction. I’ll bring in a light team, just enough to subdue her cleanly.”

  “Good,” Lucas replied. “Because I want her brought in alive. We have three targets to secure, but she is first. She is the key to everything we are building.”

  “Understood.”

  “And Michael,” Lucas added, “you know what to do if she becomes a problem.”

  Michael exhaled slowly. “Will comply, sir.”

  He ended the call and merged back onto old Highway Ninety, the sun dipping low behind the cypress trees. The real work would begin soon.

  At a nearby park, Sheryl and Karen walked the winding trail beneath the fading evening light. Their steps were steady, their breath even, but the weight behind their conversation did not match the peaceful surroundings.

  “So, how are you holding up these days?” Sheryl asked.

  Karen considered the question. “Better,” she said. “Not perfect. I still get headaches now and then. Doctors call it post-traumatic. I call it lucky, considering what happened to me.”

  Sheryl nodded. “If the police knew what we really did these past three years, we would be locked up forever.”

  “Thank God for the wild dog rumor,” Karen said. “It is the only thing keeping us free.”

  “True. The cops still refuse to accept anything supernatural. The state tries to ignore it. But the federal government knows exactly what happened. They were the ones who created the virus in the first place.”

  Karen shook her head. “They almost turned this city into a graveyard. I still wonder if they knew a goddess was buried here.”

  “We will never know,” Sheryl said quietly.

  They walked a few more steps before Karen spoke again. “How is work?”

  Sheryl sighed. “Busy. But I am thinking about stepping down from the ER soon.”

  Karen’s eyes widened. “You are quitting?”

  “No, just moving to a different division. Something calmer. Being what I am now, I need a job that does not pull me into chaos every single night.”

  “I understand,” Karen said. “When do you make the move?”

  “After our Cabo trip.”

  The two cousins had been planning a three-week escape from Louisiana for months. Sun, rest, silence. A real break. They laughed about drinks on the beach and sleeping in hammocks. Neither of them knew their plans would not survive the next forty-eight hours.

  Later that night, Sheryl showered, changed into a nightgown, and collapsed into bed. The house was quiet, the neighborhood still. She drifted off easily, but somewhere around two in the morning, a sound pierced the darkness.

  Her senses snapped awake.

  She sat upright, listening. Engines. Doors sliding open. Boots on pavement.

  Sheryl moved to the window and saw them: two white Chevy Express vans parked in front of her home. Several masked individuals stepped out, armed with M4s, moving with the precision of trained operatives. Two others stayed behind in the second van.

  Her pulse quickened. She padded down the stairs, bare feet silent on the hardwood. She reached the living room just as the side window exploded inward in a shower of glass.

  The intruders poured through the broken frame.

  They came for her.

  One man lunged, but Sheryl seized him by the wrists and hurled him across the kitchen. He crashed through the table with a sharp cry. Another rushed forward; she slashed him across the face, claws erupting instinctively from her fingertips. His scream tore through the room as blood traced down his cheek.

  A third man charged low, tackling her from behind. She broke his grip with a violent twist of her shoulders, then lifted him by the throat with one hand. His legs kicked helplessly beneath him.

  “Oh my God,” he gasped.

  She slammed him into the floor hard enough to rattle the walls.

  Her breathing deepened. Her eyes burned yellow. Muscles surged beneath her skin. The first flicker of transformation rippled through her spine.

  Then a sharp sting struck the back of her neck.

  A tranquilizer dart.

  Sheryl staggered, vision swimming. Her claws receded. Her breathing slowed. She tried to turn toward the shooter but collapsed before she could identify the figure entering through the front door.

  Her body went limp on the floor.

  The masked operatives swarmed around her, binding her wrists and ankles, covering her in a heavy black sheet.

  Within seconds, they carried her out the door and loaded her into the second van.

  Michael Sorrenson stepped aside as they secured the doors. His phone rang again. He answered immediately.

  “What’s the status?” Lucas asked.

  “We have her,” Michael said.

  A satisfied breath crackled through the line. “Perfect. Move to the next phase.”

  “Copy that.”

  Michael tapped the side of the van twice and climbed into the front passenger seat.

  “Alright,” he told the driver. “Take us to the facility.”

  The vans rolled away from the quiet neighborhood, leaving the shattered window and empty house behind.

  Bayou Mounds slept through the abduction of one of its strongest protectors.

  Morning would bring a new fear.

  A fear that Project Resurrection had officially begun.