Chapter 10 Whispers in the Dark

Jack's consciousness drifted between darkness and nightmares.

He stood in a silent, lifeless forest. The ground beneath him was muddy, and the air reeked of blood—a thick, nauseating scent.

He looked down.

His hands were covered in warm, fresh blood. His nails had sunk deep into soft flesh, tearing through it. The wounds still bled.

At his feet lay a mutilated corpse.

A twisted face. Wide, staring eyes. Lips trembling, as if whispering something.

Jack's heart pounded violently, his breath quickening.

No… No, this isn't real…

But then, the voice returned.

Deep. Cold. Echoing through the void.

"Who are you?"

Jack spun around. Darkness surrounded him. Nothing else.

But he could feel something watching.

Something lurking in the shadows. Invisible eyes tracking his every move.

"Who… are you?"

A ringing filled his ears. His mind blurred. His body felt heavy, as if an unseen force was pulling him into the abyss.

He wanted to move, to fight back, to escape—

But he couldn't.

His breathing turned ragged. His fingers dug into his palms.

No…

This isn't a dream.

—This is a memory.

"Who… are you?"

The voice grew urgent, demanding an answer.

Pain exploded in Jack's skull. His thoughts shattered.

Then—he heard it.

A heartbeat.

Not his own. Someone else's.

Louder. Closer. Rhythmic. Unstoppable.

Thump—thump—thump—

Like a whisper from the abyss, luring him in. Awakening something deep inside.

His throat burned with thirst. His gums ached. Hunger clawed at his insides, growing unbearable.

And then—

Jack's eyes flew open.

The warehouse was dim. A sliver of light seeped through a cracked window, casting long shadows on the floor.

His breaths came in ragged gasps. Cold sweat clung to his skin. His heart still thundered in his chest.

Slowly, he lowered his gaze to his hands.

His nails had grown.

Sharp. Faintly gleaming in the dark—like the claws of a beast.

Jack's pupils shrank. His fingers trembled.

D*mn it…

This wasn't a dream.

His body was changing.

"Jack."

Aisha's voice cut through the silence.

There was a subtle wariness in her tone.

Jack's head snapped up.

She was awake, watching him intently.

She had seen it.

She had seen his change.

The air grew tense, thick with something unspoken.

Jack swallowed, his voice hoarse. "You were awake the whole time?"

Aisha didn't answer. She stood up slowly, her fingers resting lightly on the grip of her gun.

A small motion.

But Jack caught it immediately.

She was preparing for the worst.

His breathing tightened. He met her gaze, his voice edged with something unreadable.

"You think… I'm about to lose control?"

Aisha hesitated. Then, in a steady voice, she said, "I don't know."

"But if you do—"

Her fingers tensed.

"You know what happens."

Jack's stomach twisted. The hunger gnawed at him, relentless.

He could hear her heartbeat.

A steady rhythm. Beckoning. Tempting. Like prey in the dark.

His jaw clenched.

No.

He forced himself to stay in control.

Slowly, he pressed his nails into the concrete floor. Dug them in, hard, until pain shot through his fingertips.

A reminder.

Aisha didn't move.

Jack exhaled, voice low. "Would you really pull the trigger?"

Aisha's expression remained unreadable.

"If you lose control," she said without hesitation, "I will."

Jack closed his eyes for a brief moment.

Then, a quiet, humorless chuckle escaped his lips.

"…Of course."

They both knew this moment would come.

Neither of them expected it to be so soon.

The tension hung between them for a long time.

Then, at last, Aisha released her grip on the gun.

"Not yet," she murmured. "But I'm watching you."

Jack didn't argue. He knew she was right.

Right now, he was dangerous.

But he needed answers.

—Who was pulling the strings?

—What was missing from his memory?

Jack took a slow breath, steadying himself.

He met Aisha's gaze, determination hardening in his eyes.

"We need to find whoever's behind this."

Aisha nodded. "I know."

"But first—"

Her expression darkened slightly, her voice low and cold.

"You'd better not make things worse for me."

The Warehouse Still Felt Tense.

Jack's breathing gradually steadied, but the hunger in his stomach remained, coiled inside him like a lurking beast, waiting to break free.

Aisha didn't say anything else. She leaned against the wall and began checking her gear.

Jack looked down at his hands—his nails had returned to normal, but the restless energy in his blood hadn't fully faded.

How much longer could he hold on?

He had no idea.

"We can't stay here tonight."

Aisha's voice cut through the silence.

Jack lifted his head to look at her. "The werewolf hunters?"

Aisha nodded, her tone calm. "They won't let you go that easily. Especially now."

Jack frowned slightly. "You mean… they've already noticed the changes in me?"

Aisha didn't answer right away. Instead, she just looked at him, her gaze unreadable.

"You should be asking yourself that."

Jack stiffened slightly.

Her meaning was clear—if she had noticed, then the hunters definitely had too.

"They've always been interested in you." Aisha continued, "But if they're convinced you're on the verge of losing control, they won't hesitate anymore."

"They'll kill you."

Jack's fingers curled slightly.

"So we need to move." Aisha slung her bag over her shoulder. "And find some answers."

"Where do we start?" Jack asked in a low voice.

Aisha glanced at him, a faint smirk playing at her lips.

"With the hunters themselves."

2:00 AM — Westside Underground Fight Club

This place was part of the black market—a haven for illegal deals, brutal fights, and blood-soaked gambling.

But hidden within this decaying underworld was something even more dangerous—the werewolf hunters' information network.

Jack and Aisha moved through the dimly lit, damp corridors, blending into the crowd as they approached a secluded room.

Two large men stood at the entrance, their hands resting near their waists—where their guns were holstered.

Aisha stepped forward and tossed a photograph onto the ground.

It spun slightly in the air before landing at their feet.

The image was of a dead man.

His flesh was torn apart, his eyes hollow and lifeless, frozen in the final moment of terror.

The guards' expressions shifted. One of them lifted his gaze, staring at Aisha with cautious suspicion. "What's this supposed to mean?"

Aisha's voice was calm. "I know you're investigating this case."

"And I know who your target is."

She tilted her head slightly, glancing at Jack behind her.

Jack's face remained unreadable, but his fists tightened ever so slightly.

"So…" Aisha's smirk deepened, her voice laced with meaning. "Why don't we talk?"

A heavy silence filled the air.

Then—

The door opened.

The real hunters were waiting inside.