The black vans carved through the rural darkness of Louisiana for nearly three hours, headlights slicing the fog as they traveled deeper into nowhere. Their destination was New Era, a quiet town surrounded by endless pine and farmland, the kind of place where people minded their business and asked no questions. It was the perfect hiding spot for the newest monster in the world: a Dairfax-operated research facility disguised behind a chain-link fence and a sign that simply read Laboratory Three.

  Nobody in New Era knew what happened inside the building. They had been told it was a medical testing center, nothing more. The guards at the rear gate certainly knew better. When the two vans approached, engines rumbling, the guards opened the gate without hesitation. They had been expecting this delivery.

  Sheryl Brown lay in the back of the second van, unconscious, bound, and wrapped in a heavy black sheet. The tranquilizer had done its work well. Her breathing was steady but shallow, her body warm with the faint simmer of the wolf beneath her skin. The team wheeled her inside, pushing the gurney through a steel-lined hallway that smelled of cold metal and antiseptic. The fluorescent lights above buzzed softly as if whispering warnings.

  They stopped inside a wide room that blended laboratory and operating theater, a place built for both healing and violation. White tile. Stainless steel. Glass walls. Too clean to be honest.

  When the sheet was removed, Sheryl stirred. Her eyelids fluttered, her breathing sharpened. She tried to sit up, but thick nylon restraints held her down by the wrists and ankles. The moment she inhaled, she knew she was not home. Her senses strained through the fog of the tranquilizer: strange voices, sterile air, the humming throb of machines.

  A man stepped into her line of sight.

  He was tall, lean, red-haired, with eyes that carried the sharpness of someone who had made too many decisions and regretted none of them.

  “Good morning, Sheryl,” he said.

  Sheryl’s voice scraped out. “Where am I?”

  “My name is Lucas Kain,” he replied. “I am the head of special projects and operations for Dairfax. And you are here because you are important to us.”

  Sheryl strained against the restraints again, metal creaking. “What am I doing here?”

  “I will explain everything soon,” Lucas said with a calm that felt rehearsed. “For now, it is best that you relax. We have taken every precaution to ensure you do not hurt yourself during the adjustment.”

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  The door opened, and a woman in a white coat entered. Her face was sharp, her eyes clinical.

  “Good morning, Sheryl,” she said. “I am Dr. Victoria Cunningham. I will be monitoring your condition and collecting the necessary DNA samples.”

  Sheryl glared at both of them. “If you wanted bloodwork, you could have asked. Why did you drag me out of my home?”

  Lucas bent closer so she could see the smile that never reached his eyes.

  “Because we wanted to,” he said. “And because we needed to. That is all you need to know right now.”

  Sheryl’s jaw tightened. “You cannot contain me. You do not understand what I am.”

  “We understand enough,” Lucas said. “The tranquilizer was tailored for you. It slows your metabolism, suppresses your predatory instincts, and blocks your transformation. Courtesy of Dr. Cunningham here. You are completely safe. And you are not going anywhere.”

  Sheryl pulled again, harder this time, but her arms refused to respond. Her muscles felt like they had been filled with wet sand. Her vision blurred at the edges.

  Lucas watched her struggle, then turned to Dr. Cunningham. “Begin the work. She is the centerpiece of this project.”

  Sheryl tried to speak again, but the room began to spin. Whatever they had injected into her was tightening around her mind like a rope. She fell silent, her thoughts slowing one by one until darkness drowned the rest.

  In Baton Rouge that same morning, Dr. Carlos Marsh stepped out of his bathroom with a shopping list in one hand and keys in the other. He had planned a simple day: groceries, a quick stop at the pharmacy, maybe a trip to the park to think through the notes he had been working on.

  The doorbell rang.

  Marsh frowned. He was not expecting anyone. He opened the door without caution; a decision he regretted an instant later.

  A woman stood there, dressed in plain clothes and carrying a canvas tote bag. Her smile flickered for half a second before she drove a taser into his abdomen.

  The electrical surge hit Marsh like a lightning bolt. His knees buckled, his breath vanished, and he collapsed to the floor, unconscious before he could cry out. Two men stepped inside, lifting him by the arms with practiced efficiency.

  “Clear,” one of them whispered.

  They wrapped him, restrained him, and carried him to the waiting SUV outside. Unlike Sheryl’s abduction, this operation was quiet and clean. No broken windows. No torn furniture. No signs of struggle.

  Michael Sorrenson oversaw the entire process from the passenger seat. Once Marsh was loaded, he pulled out his phone and called Lucas Kain.

  “We got him,” Michael said.

  Lucas’s voice crackled through the speaker. “Good. Very good. Two down and one to go.”

  Michael glanced at Marsh’s unconscious form. “You want us to sweep the house?”

  “Yes,” Lucas said. “Collect every piece of laboratory equipment you can find. Anything that looks like research, bring it. We will need all of it.”

  Michael hung up, then turned to his team. “You heard him. Grab everything. We leave in five minutes.”

  The crew moved back inside Marsh’s home like a silent tide.

  The hunt for their third target had already begun.