Two hours had passed since the back door of Joshua Bronson’s home had been reduced to splinters. Alice pulled into the gravel driveway, her brow furrowed at the glowing front porch light. Josh hadn't answered her last four calls. She used the spare key he’d given her months ago, but the moment the lock clicked, the silence of the house felt wrong.

  "Josh?" she called out. The living room was a cavern of shadows.

  She fumbled for the light switch. The hum of the overhead bulbs revealed a nightmare. Josh was sprawled against the wreckage of his flat-screen television, his body twisted at an impossible angle. A dark, rhythmic pool of blood expanded across the floor, fed by the jagged puncture wounds in his abdomen. Alice’s scream tore through the quiet of the Oakland Hills neighborhood as she lunged for her phone to dial 911.

  Miles away, the utility van cut through the humid night. Derek gripped the wheel, his mind still tethered to the shredded blue fabric they had recovered from the woods. Suddenly, a sharp chime cut through the low rumble of the engine. The Channel 7 News app flashed a notification across his iPhone, the text mirrored onto the van’s dashboard display.

  "Hey, we got a breaking story," Derek said, nodding toward the screen. "Check that."

  Olivia tapped the link, her eyes scanning the scrolling text. "A man was found stabbed to death inside an Oakland Hills home. Police are on the scene now." She looked up, her jaw tight. "Derek, make a detour. I have a feeling this isn't a standard homicide."

  "You don't have to tell me twice," Derek replied, banking the van into a hard turn.

  They parked a block away from the flashing blue and red lights, moving toward the yellow tape with the practiced stride of people who had walked through the Everdale Massacre.

  "Good evening, Detective," Chief Charles Davis said, stepping away from a cluster of officers. He adjusted his belt, his eyes narrowing as he took in her presence. "May I ask why you're here? You weren't assigned to the Hills tonight."

  "We're all swamped lately, Chief," Olivia said, her voice smooth and professional. "I’m just trying to pick up the slack where I can." She gestured to the man beside her. "This is Derek Brown. He’s a PI assisting with some of my backlog."

  "Nice to meet you, Chief," Derek said with a clipped nod.

  "Right. Well, we have a mess inside," Davis said, exhaling a cloud of frustration. "Girlfriend found him. Stomach wounds, the front door was locked, but the back was hammered in. Smashed the TV and a shelf full of pictures. Looks like a struggle with a heavy-hitter."

  "Derek and I will take a look," Olivia signaled.

  Inside, the scent hit Derek instantly—the same copper tang of blood mixed with the musky, sour odor of the zoo enclosures. He followed the trail of destruction to the corner of the living room.

  "Thinking what I'm thinking?" Olivia whispered, her back to the other officers.

  "Exactly," Derek muttered, his golden eyes scanning the depth of the gouges in the hardwood. "This is personal. And it’s the same scent from Gloria’s place. It’s her."

  They stepped back out onto the porch, where the humid night air felt clean compared to the iron-stink of the house. Olivia caught the Chief’s eye.

  "Chief, listen. I know you don't want to hear it, but that's a werewolf attack," Olivia said, her voice low but firm.

  Davis didn't answer immediately. He grabbed Olivia’s arm and pulled her several yards away from the perimeter, his face flushing a deep, angry red. "Do you need a suspension, Hale?"

  "No, Chief."

  "Then act like you have some sense and quit touting these assumptions," Davis snapped, his voice a harsh whisper. "We know what we don't know. You’re talking about monsters in a neighborhood full of tax-paying citizens."

  "Chief, no human being is capable of tearing a reinforced door off its hinges like that," Olivia countered, gesturing toward the house.

  "You cannot assume!" Davis stepped into her space, his finger stabbing the air. "You’re one of my best, Olivia. Start acting like it before you talk yourself out of a job. Are we clear?"

  Olivia swallowed her anger, her eyes shifting to Derek, who stood silently by the van. "Yes, Chief. Crystal clear."

  While the Bayou Mounds police force swarmed the Oakland Hills crime scene, Kimberly Watson was a ghost on Interstate 10. She drove with a steady hand, her mind surprisingly calm for someone who had just committed a brutal execution. Upon entering her apartment, she moved with clinical efficiency, dropping her purse and keys, shedding the zookeeper uniform that now felt like a costume, and stepping into the shower to wash away the copper scent of Joshua Bronson.

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  Steam filled the bathroom, but it couldn't cloud her new clarity. Once dressed, she sat at her desktop, the glow of the monitor reflecting in eyes that seemed brighter than they had been a day ago. She scrolled through articles on lycanthropy, shifting from folklore to YouTube videos. What she had once dismissed as myth was now her reality—and she found herself welcoming it.

  The bite from Bo hadn't just altered her DNA; it had rewritten her soul. Kimberly felt a surge of confidence that eclipsed years of insecurity. She was sharper, more agile, and finally powerful. She held up her right arm, watching with a dark fascination as gray fur erupted from her pores and her nails elongated into obsidian points.

  “I’m a werewolf,” she whispered, a jagged, predatory laugh escaping her throat as her eyes ignited into a solid, electric blue. “And I like it.”

  The next morning, the air in Bayou Mounds felt heavy. Derek and Olivia pulled up to Dr. Carlos Marsh's new residence. The scientist had recently moved back from Baton Rouge, realizing his expertise in Lycan biology was needed at the epicenter of the outbreak.

  “Alright, I know this is off the books, but there’s still a process,” Marsh warned as he took the evidence bag containing the torn blue skirt. “I won’t have a definite answer until tomorrow night. We have to see how the strain has drifted.”

  “Keep us posted,” Derek said, his tactical mind already racing. “We’re going to need that info.”

  As they walked back to the utility van, Derek’s phone buzzed with a FaceTime call from Sheryl.

  “Listen,” Sheryl said, her face tight with concern on the screen. “I have a name for your database: Kimberly Watson.”

  Sheryl explained the intel she’d gathered from the ER—a zookeeper bitten after voluntarily entering a wolf enclosure. “The guy killed last night was a zookeeper, too. I’m telling you, the virus didn't stop with humans. It’s spreading, and these murders are connected”.

  Olivia texted the name to herself as they headed to the precinct. When they entered the Bayou Mounds Police Department, the atmosphere was thick with suspicion. Officers paused their hushed conversations to stare at Derek—a towering, muscular stranger walking beside one of their own.

  “Who’s he?” an officer whispered.

  “Why is everyone staring at me?” Derek muttered.

  “Ignore them,” Olivia replied, leading him into her office. “Shut the door. Lock it. Close the blinds.”

  She didn't want Chief Davis or anyone else seeing the "inside track" she was about to pull. She logged into the LLETS (Louisiana Law Enforcement Telecommunications System) and typed the name.

  “Here we go,” Olivia said, the blue light of the screen illuminating her face. “Kimberly Watson, age 34. Zookeeper at Bayou Mounds Zoo for seven years. Clean record, save for a speeding ticket two years ago. She lives in the River Oaks Apartments.”

  “Take down the address,” Olivia commanded. She looked at the digital profile, then back at Derek. “We can’t get a warrant without credible evidence, so that I won’t ask a judge. We approach her at the right time and ask questions. We start at the zoo.”

  Derek nodded, his hand instinctively checking the gear at his side.

  “Bring your ammo,” Olivia added, her voice dropping an octave. “Just in case things go sideways.”

  The atmosphere at the Bayou Mounds Zoo was heavy with the scent of grief. Supervisor Kellen Harris had broken the news early: Josh was dead. Paula, his closest friend, was a shell of herself, leaning against the enclosure fence as she recounted their last conversation.

  "I think I might take a few days off," Paula whispered, her voice trembling. "I can't process this."

  "I'm baffled by all of this, too," Kimberly said, her voice a perfect mask of practiced sympathy. "We weren’t on the best of terms, but we were a team." She paused, her eyes tracking the pulse in Paula's neck. "Hey, how about I come over to your place tonight? We can have that conversation you mentioned. I think it’s needed right now."

  "Yeah," Paula sighed, oblivious to the predator standing inches away. "I'll be ready around eight. Do you have my address?"

  "Saved in my phone," Kimberly replied with a cold, internal smile.

  The "conversation" began sooner than Paula envisioned. As she walked to her Nissan Altima in the zoo parking lot, a figure in a black ski mask surged from the shadows. Kimberly didn't use claws this time; she used a taser. The high-voltage arc sent Paula into a seizing heap on the pavement. With the tactical efficiency of a soldier, Kimberly shoved the unconscious woman into her own trunk and drove toward Paula’s home.

  "Hello!" Paula’s scream echoed off the damp concrete walls of her basement. She was bound tightly to a wooden chair, the darkness of her own home suddenly alien and terrifying.

  "Hi, Paula," a voice drifted from the shadows.

  "Kim? Is that you?"

  Kimberly stepped forward, though only her glowing blue eyes were visible at first—a signature of the Gray Wolf strain. She clicked on a handheld lamp, the harsh beam illuminating her face. "I got a few parting gifts from Bo before he passed," Kimberly said, gesturing to the faded bite marks on her arm.

  "Kim, what are you doing? Untie me!" Paula gasped, her lungs tight with panic.

  "I can't do that. Since Bo bit me, I’ve been delivered. I’m powerful," Kimberly whispered, leaning closely. "But let's talk about why you're here. This is payback for everything you and Josh said. Worthless. Deadweight. Fat. I heard it all, Paula. Even Kellen's plan to fire me."

  "Did you kill Josh?" Paula’s voice broke.

  "Yes. And it felt great. Tonight, it’s your turn."

  Kimberly set the lamp down and began her ritual, stripping off her clothes and folding them with the "neatness" that had become her psychological anchor. Paula watched in paralyzed horror as Kimberly’s body underwent the agonizing, hyper-muscular mutation. Bones snapped and reset; excess weight vanished, replaced by dense, defined muscle that tripled her human mass. Her feet shifted into a digitigrade posture as thick gray fur erupted over her skin.

  The Gray Wolf was back on the hunt.

  Kimberly paced in a slow, predatory circle around the chair, the clicking of her obsidian claws on the concrete the only sound beside Paula’s sobbing. When she finally moved, it was a blur of gray. She slashed Paula’s face with methodical precision, each strike tearing away the "mask" her coworker had worn.

  Finally, Kimberly lunged, her massive hand closing around Paula’s throat. She hoisted the woman and the chair off the ground effortlessly. A single, crushing squeeze silenced Paula’s pleas forever. With a flick of her wrist, Kimberly hurled the body across the room, shattering an antique shelf upon impact.

  Standing over the corpse of her latest bully, the werewolf threw her head back and let out a massive roar that shook the foundation of the house—a declaration of dominance over Bayou Mounds.

  As she had with Josh, Kimberly followed her protocol. She reverted to her human form, dressed, and walked a few blocks away to call an Uber. By the time she picked up her own vehicle at the zoo, the tally was complete: three lives taken in four days.

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