Chapter 6 No Escape

Jack's fists slowly loosened, then clenched again. His heart was pounding, his blood surging through his veins like a brewing storm on the verge of breaking.

He stared at Elliot, his throat tightening, his voice hoarse. "No."

Elliot raised an eyebrow slightly. "Are you sure?"

"I don't trust you." Jack's eyes were sharp with suspicion. "You suddenly show up, tell me a bunch of secrets about the werewolf hunters, and then say you want to 'save' us… It all sounds too perfect."

He took a deep breath, his gaze unwavering. "And things that seem perfect are usually traps."

Silence settled over the warehouse.

Aisha didn't speak, but her grip on the gun remained firm, ready for anything.

Elliot studied Jack for a moment before letting out a quiet chuckle, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. "Interesting."

He took a slow step back, raising his hands in a gesture of harmlessness. "Alright. If that's how you feel, then let's pretend I was never here."

With that, he turned and walked toward the warehouse door, his steps casual, as if he were merely a passing visitor.

Jack watched his silhouette until he reached the door, pulled it open, and disappeared into the night.

Aisha finally lowered her gun, her voice cool. "Do you really trust your judgment?"

Jack didn't answer. He stared at the ground, his fingers trembling slightly.

He didn't trust Elliot.

He didn't trust the werewolf hunters.

And worst of all—he didn't trust himself.

He had no idea if his decision had been the right one.

Aisha glanced at him and sighed softly. "We need to get out of here."

Jack nodded. But as he took a step forward, his body suddenly faltered—

A sharp pain shot through his bones, like something unseen was tearing him apart from the inside.

His breath caught in his throat. His heartbeat pounded in his ears. A wave of dizziness crashed over him.

"Jack…"

Someone was calling his name.

The voice was low, rough, like a whisper from the depths of darkness.

Jack's head snapped up, eyes darting around in alarm.

"What is it?" Aisha noticed his change in demeanor.

Jack frowned, sweat beading at his temple. "…Nothing."

He inhaled deeply, forcing himself to stay composed, then quickly followed Aisha out of the warehouse.

But Jack didn't notice—

The moment they left, a pair of pitch-black eyes continued watching them from the shadows.

Midnight Streets

Cold wind swept through the empty streets, and the streetlights cast flickering shadows against the darkness.

Jack and Aisha moved swiftly through the narrow alleys, avoiding the main roads. They didn't know if the werewolf hunters were still searching for them, but for now, they had no choice but to keep moving.

The air was damp, carrying the faint stench of rotting food from nearby trash bins.

Jack's steps grew heavier. With each stride, the heat inside him intensified.

His body was changing.

"Jack…"

That low, husky voice echoed again.

Jack stopped dead in his tracks, whipping around abruptly.

The alley was empty. Only the dim, yellowish light reflected off the wet pavement.

Aisha frowned. "What are you looking at?"

Jack's lips parted slightly, his breath unsteady. He scanned his surroundings—nothing.

But just now… someone had called him.

"Jack…"

"You can't run."

The whisper curled around his ears, laced with an eerie, almost seductive pull.

Like something awakening inside his blood. Something talking to him.

Jack's breath quickened. His fingers twitched.

Aisha noticed his reaction immediately. Her voice was low. "You heard it again, didn't you?"

Jack lifted his gaze to meet hers, his expression complicated.

He didn't want to admit it.

But—he had.

Aisha's face darkened. "When did it start?"

Jack's throat was dry. "…After Elliot left."

Aisha's eyes narrowed.

They both understood—

Elliot hadn't truly left. Somehow, in some way, he was still affecting Jack.

But the real question was—

Was Elliot really out there?

Or was he just inside Jack's head?

A Rooftop Somewhere in the City

The night was deep, the wind howling across the skyline.

Elliot stood at the edge of a rooftop, gazing down at the winding streets below.

A faint smile played on his lips, and his black eyes reflected the distant figure of Jack.

He could feel it—Jack's awakening had already begun.

He whispered softly, "You rejected me… but that's alright."

Tilting his head slightly, his gaze darkened, as if he could see through everything.

"You'll come looking for me soon enough."

The night wind swept past him, and in the next instant, his silhouette melted into the shadows, vanishing completely.

But the whispers he left behind still echoed in Jack's mind—

"You can't escape."

"The wolf always returns to the darkness."

Late Night, Cheap Motel Room

The dim light cast long shadows across the room.

Jack sat on the edge of the bed, his hands gripping his head. The whispers in his ears were growing clearer.

"Jack… can you feel it?"

"Your blood is burning…"

His eyes snapped open. He gasped for breath, drenched in cold sweat. His fingers were rigid, digging into the bedsheets, his forehead slick with perspiration. His heart pounded so violently it felt like it might burst from his chest.

Another hallucination? A dream?

He couldn't tell.

Across the room, Aisha stood by the window, watching the streets outside with wary eyes. She still held her gun, her posture calm, but Jack could feel her eyes flicking toward him, observing.

"You heard it again?" Her voice was low.

Jack hesitated, then nodded.

Aisha frowned, stepping toward the bed. "What kind of voice?"

Jack's throat was dry. His voice came out hoarse. "…A whisper. I can't make out the words, but it makes me feel… hunger."

"Hunger?" Aisha's gaze sharpened. "Hunger for what?"

Jack didn't answer. He didn't want to admit it.

But deep down, he knew—he was craving blood.

Aisha studied him for a moment before speaking slowly. "Jack… have you considered the possibility that your hallucinations aren't just hallucinations?"

Jack's head snapped up. A flicker of unease crossed his face. "What do you mean?"

Aisha's fingers traced the grip of her gun, her voice steady. "What if… you really did those things?"

The air grew heavy.

Jack's fingers trembled slightly. His pulse quickened. "You think I did it?"

Aisha didn't answer directly. Instead, she pulled something from her pocket and tossed it onto the bed.

Jack looked down.

A photograph.

A mutilated corpse.

It was this morning's news. A man had been found dead on the street, torn apart, his throat ripped open.

Blood was everywhere.

Jack's stomach churned. His throat tightened.

Aisha's voice was cold. "You said you went out for air last night. And when you woke up, you didn't remember anything."

She paused, her eyes sharp. "But the time of the murder… matches exactly with when you were 'out for air.'"

Jack's body stiffened.

No. No, that wasn't possible.

He wouldn't do something like that.

But—he couldn't remember.

His memory was blank. He had no idea where he had gone last night.

Cold sweat trickled down his temple. His nails dug into the bed, his breathing uneven.

"…It wasn't me," he muttered, as if trying to convince himself.

Aisha's voice was quiet, but it carried a dangerous edge. "Are you sure?"

Then she said something that sent a chill down his spine.

"If it wasn't you, then why is there dried blood under your nails?"

Jack's eyes widened.

Slowly, he looked down at his hands.

There, in the crevices of his fingernails—dark red stains.

His stomach twisted. His breath caught in his throat.

What had he done?

A Dark Street at Midnight

Jack walked alone, his mind a whirlwind of chaos.

What had he done?

Had he really killed someone?

His fingers brushed against his nails. Ice-cold.

He refused to believe it.

But he couldn't remember.

Every clue pointed to the same horrifying conclusion—he might have actually killed someone.

No. No, this had to be a setup.

The werewolf hunters.

Or… Elliot.

Elliot.

Jack's expression darkened.

Was Elliot doing this to him? Manipulating his mind? Making him hallucinate?

His fists clenched. His breath came in short gasps.

Then he suddenly stopped.

He wasn't alone.

Slowly, he lifted his head, scanning the shadows—

And saw him.

Elliot stood not far away, shrouded in darkness.

A faint, unreadable smile curved his lips. Hands in his pockets. Watching Jack.

Waiting.

Jack's pulse spiked. His breath hitched.

His vision blurred with rage as he stormed forward. "What the hell did you do to me?!"

He lunged.

But—

Elliot vanished.

Like smoke dissolving into the night.

Jack stumbled to a halt, gasping.

The street was empty.

Silent.

Only darkness remained.

His fingers were ice-cold. His forehead slick with sweat.

Had Elliot really been there?

Or was this another hallucination?

Jack didn't know.

He only knew one thing—he was losing control.

The whispers slithered back into his ears, filled with temptation.

"You can't deny your instincts forever…"

"You will become what you were meant to be…"

Jack's throat tightened. His heart pounded wildly. His breathing grew erratic.

And finally, the terrifying truth settled in—

He was falling apart.

He couldn't escape this nightmare.

He couldn't escape—

Himself.