Chapter 4 The Infiltrator

The warehouse smelled of dust and decay. The air was heavy, the corners cluttered with old wooden crates and rusted metal shelves. Jack leaned against the cold wall, his chest rising and falling sharply, his throat parched like it was about to crack. His body was still burning up, his blood churning in his veins, as if something inside him was waking up.

Aisha stood by the door, pressing her ear against the wooden panel, listening intently to the sounds outside.

Out in the street, the werewolf hunters were still searching. Their footsteps, mingled with the faint crackle of radios, filled the air with tension.

"They haven't left yet." Aisha glanced back at Jack, her voice low. "But they won't search forever. If they don't find us soon, they'll pull back—at least for now."

Jack lifted his head, his voice hoarse. "And then?"

Aisha frowned slightly, as if weighing their next move. "Then we relocate. This place isn't safe. They'll be back for a more thorough search soon."

Jack said nothing. He could feel the changes in his body growing harder to control. A dull ache throbbed in his bones, his fingertips felt unnaturally sensitive, and for a brief moment, he could swear his nails had sharpened.

"Aisha." His voice was quiet.

She turned to him, still on high alert. "What?"

"If… if I really change," Jack hesitated, his breath unsteady, "what will you do?"

Aisha's fingers hesitated on the grip of her gun for the briefest second. Then, she answered flatly, "Depends."

Jack let out a dry, humorless chuckle. "That's a vague answer."

Aisha's gaze remained steady. "Because I don't know. If you turn into a mindless beast, I'll shoot. But if you can control yourself, I'll do what I can to help you."

Jack was silent for a moment before murmuring, "What makes you so sure I can still control it?"

Aisha's expression flickered with something unreadable. "You haven't killed anyone yet. Have you?"

Jack didn't respond. The truth was—he didn't know how much longer he could hold out.

A moment of silence hung between them. Then—

A faint click echoed through the warehouse.

Jack's nerves went taut. Instinctively, he turned toward the sound.

"What was that?" he asked in a hushed voice.

Aisha's expression darkened. She raised her gun, her sharp eyes scanning the shadows.

"It's not them," she whispered. "The sound came from inside."

Jack's heart sank.

That meant—

They weren't alone.

In the darkness, a shadow shifted. A slow, almost imperceptible breath filled the air—a deep, steady inhale, like a beast lying in wait, observing its prey.

Jack's throat tightened. He instinctively stepped back, while Aisha moved forward, angling her gun toward the darkness.

"Come out." Her voice was cold as ice. "Don't make me pull the trigger."

Silence.

Then, the breathing continued. Slow. Measured.

Jack clenched his fists, his blood boiling beneath his skin. His instincts screamed—there was danger here.

A few seconds later, a low chuckle drifted out from the shadows. A voice, husky with a rough edge, finally spoke.

"Aisha… after all these years, you're still as cautious as ever."

Jack's pupils contracted.

This person—knew Aisha?

Aisha's grip tightened around the trigger, her tone chilling further. "How did you find us?"

The figure stepped forward, emerging from the darkness. He was tall, lean, dressed in a dark trench coat. His sharp features were pale, his expression unreadable, lips curved in a faint, knowing smile.

But what unsettled Jack the most—were his eyes.

Pitch black, like the void. Deep and bottomless, as if they could swallow all light.

"This city isn't that big." The man shrugged with an easy smile. "Did you really think hiding here would keep you safe?"

Jack's heartbeat pounded harder. He could feel it—this man wasn't ordinary.

Aisha didn't lower her gun. Her voice remained steady. "What do you want?"

The man's gaze flicked briefly to Jack before his smirk deepened.

"It's not about what I want," he said slowly. "It's about what needs to be done."

A pause. Then, he added:

"You've been marked."

Jack felt a chill crawl up his spine. "What do you mean?"

The man took another step forward, his dark gaze unreadable. "The werewolf hunters won't just let you go, Jack. They know what you are. They know you're about to awaken."

Jack's breath hitched. "Who are you?"

The man smiled. "Someone like you."

Aisha's eyes narrowed sharply. Her finger rested firmly on the trigger. "A werewolf?"

The man didn't deny it. Instead, he let out a soft chuckle, his tone laced with something almost playful. "Something like that."

The air in the warehouse grew heavier, the atmosphere thick with tension.

Jack's fingers twitched. His senses were heightened—he could hear the man's heartbeat, slow and steady, pulsing with an eerie rhythm beyond that of any human.

Was he really a werewolf?

Aisha kept her gun raised, her voice like steel. "Then say what you came to say."

The man tilted his head slightly. His expression was relaxed, yet his presence was suffocating.

"Simple," he said. "I'm here to save you."

Jack's brows furrowed.

Something about this felt wrong.

"…Save us?" Jack's voice was low, skeptical. "Or use us?"

The man's gaze locked onto him, something unreadable flickering in his black eyes.

"That," he murmured, "depends on your choices."

The air was thick with unspoken threats. The dim light flickered, casting long, distorted shadows on the walls, as if the darkness itself was closing in on them.

The werewolf hunters were still out there, hunting them down.

And now, a mysterious werewolf had found them first.

Jack knew—things were about to get even more complicated.

—But he had no other choice.