Astra

The air in this place is thick, like it's pressing down on me, trying to squeeze the fight out of my bones. The walls hum with electricity, the faint buzzing sound of security systems woven into the concrete itself.

I am trapped.

Again.

But this time, I am not alone.

Kain Valerius stands like a statue, arms crossed over his chest, jaw locked tight. His presence is a physical weight in the room, suffocating in its intensity. Ronan Cael, the assassin, stays to the side, motionless. He has not said a word since stepping into the cell, and I can feel the way he watches me—assessing, calculating, deciding if I am worth his time or his blade.

Silas, on the other hand, looks like he is enjoying the show. He lounges against the wall, grinning like we are at a poker table instead of a prison.

I should be afraid.

Three men. Three wolves. Each one more dangerous than the last.

But fear does not come.

I have spent too much of my life afraid. It has never helped me before. It will not help me now.

I inhale through my nose, slow and steady. The scent of the cell is stale, metallic, laced with old blood and silver. My skin prickles where the poison still lingers in my veins, but I shove the discomfort aside.

Focus. Stay sharp.

I look at Kain first. "So, what happens after these five minutes?"

He does not blink. "We move."

I raise an eyebrow. "To where?"

Silence.

Ronan shifts slightly, the first movement he has made since stepping into the room. The slight tilt of his head, the narrowing of his eyes.

He does not trust me.

Good. I do not trust him either.

Silas sighs dramatically, rubbing a hand through his dark hair. "Come on, sweetheart, play nice. We all have the same problem, remember?"

I scoff. "And what problem is that?"

Kain finally moves. He steps forward, slow and deliberate, until there is barely any space between us. He is taller than me, broader, the sheer power rolling off him enough to make my wolf stir uneasily.

"We are being hunted," he says.

A cold weight settles in my stomach.

I already knew it, but hearing it out loud is different.

I glance between them. "You three have been here longer than me. You already know what's going on. So why the hell am I just now getting brought into it?"

Kain does not answer.

Silas does. "Because, sweetheart, you are special."

The word makes me flinch. Special. I have spent my whole life avoiding that label, avoiding anything that would make me stand out. Being different in the werewolf world gets you killed.

I cross my arms. "I am just a rogue."

Kain's gaze sharpens, like he is seeing straight through me. "No. You are not."

A muscle in my jaw tightens. "What do you know about me?"

Silas chuckles. "More than you do, apparently."

I hate this. The half-truths. The way they look at me like I am a puzzle they are already halfway to solving.

I clench my fists, digging my nails into my palms. I am outnumbered. Outmatched. But I refuse to be outplayed.

Fine. If they want to keep their secrets, I will keep mine.

The door buzzes again, a sound that makes my spine stiffen.

Kain's expression hardens. "Time's up."

Ronan moves first. He reaches for something beneath his shirt, and for a split second, I think it is a weapon. Instead, he pulls out a small black disc.

A jammer.

He presses it against the steel door, and the lights overhead flicker. The humming sound of the security system cuts out for a fraction of a second.

Silas grins. "Nice trick, assassin."

Ronan does not respond.

The door clicks.

Not open. But compromised.

Kain rolls his shoulders, his muscles flexing beneath his shirt. "We go now."

I hesitate. "And where exactly are we going?"

Kain looks at me, his dark eyes unreadable.

"To war."

War.

The word hangs between us, heavy and final.

I do not flinch, do not react, but something inside me tightens. A war means sides. It means battle lines. It means knowing exactly what you are fighting for.

And I do not know what the hell I am yet.

Kain does not wait for an answer. He moves, pushing through the now-compromised door like this was the plan all along. Ronan follows, silent and precise, his every movement calculated.

Silas stretches, rolling his shoulders like he is preparing for a fight. "Better keep up, sweetheart," he says, throwing me a grin before slipping through the door after them.

I exhale sharply, my frustration curling tight in my chest. I do not like being dragged into things without answers, but I hate being left behind even more.

So I follow.

The hallway is cold, the air stale, and everything smells like chemicals and metal. The lights overhead flicker just enough to cast uneasy shadows, warping the edges of the narrow space.

The place is too quiet.

Kain moves with purpose, leading us through a series of turns that I barely have time to track. The walls all look the same, thick steel doors lining both sides, some sealed shut, others slightly ajar.

I catch glimpses as we pass—cells like the one I woke up in, empty stretchers, claw marks gouged into the concrete. The scent of old blood lingers in the air, thick and cloying.

This is not just a prison.

It is a lab.

The realization makes my stomach twist. The Order does not just capture wolves. They experiment on them.

Silas hums under his breath. "You know, for a top-secret operation, their security sucks."

"Shut up," Kain says.

Silas grins, clearly unbothered. "You are just mad I am right."

He is trying to keep the mood light, but I am not stupid. I see the way his hands never stray too far from his pockets, the way his sharp gaze flickers to the shadows like he is expecting something to go wrong.

Like he knows something I do not.

I move faster, catching up to Kain. "Where are we going?"

He does not look at me. "Out."

"Out where?" I press. "Do you have a plan, or are we just running?"

Kain's jaw tightens. "Both."

Not an answer.

I grit my teeth. "I need more than that."

Finally, he glances at me, his gaze hard. "No, you want more than that. But right now, you follow, or you get left behind."

I open my mouth to argue, but before I can, Ronan lifts a hand.

We freeze.

The air shifts.

A sound.

Footsteps.

Slow. Heavy.

My pulse kicks up.

Kain presses himself against the wall, muscles coiled, ready to strike. Silas mutters something under his breath, his expression going sharp.

Ronan moves first.

He is fast—faster than I expect, faster than I can track. One second he is beside me, the next he is gone, swallowed by the shadows ahead.

Silas clicks his tongue. "And there goes our least friendly wolf."

I barely breathe. My senses stretch, my instincts screaming, and then—

A grunt. The sharp crack of bone.

The footsteps stop.

A few seconds later, Ronan steps back into view, his expression unreadable. "Clear," he says.

I exhale.

Kain moves first, stepping over a body sprawled on the floor. A guard, fully armed, now motionless.

Ronan's work.

I glance at him, but he does not acknowledge it. No hesitation. No remorse.

Just efficiency.

I do not know what The Order did to him, but it made him lethal.

We keep moving.

The hall opens up into a larger space—an intersection of corridors, leading in different directions. And at the end of one of them, doors.

Kain does not hesitate. "There."

We move fast, feet barely making a sound, but something feels off.

Too easy.

My pulse thuds in my ears. My instincts scratch at me, warning me, but before I can say anything—

The lights snap off.

Darkness crashes over us.

Then—

The alarms start screaming.

Red emergency lights flood the hall, casting everything in sharp, fractured shadows.

Then the sound of boots.

Not one. Not two. Dozens.

Kain curses. "They were waiting."

Ronan already has a blade in his hand, his stance shifting as figures move in from both ends of the corridor.

Trapped.

Silas exhales, rolling his neck. "I hate being predictable."

I barely hear him. My focus is on the approaching figures, the scent of silver thick in the air, the growing pressure inside my chest.

I reach for my wolf—

And nothing happens.

Panic flares.

No. Not now. Not again.

The Order did something to me. I felt it when they drugged me, when they took me, when my body refused to shift.

And now—

I am stuck in my human skin.

A hand clamps around my wrist, pulling me back.

Kain.

His grip is firm, his expression unreadable. But I feel the way he shields me, stepping in front of me like I am his to protect.

Like I am his responsibility.

"Stay close," he says.

Then the first shot fires.

Chaos erupts.

Silas moves first, a blur of motion, using the shadows to his advantage. He is quick, unpredictable, his strikes almost playful—almost.

Ronan does not hesitate. He is precise, efficient, his blade slicing through the enemy before they even see him coming.

Kain is a wrecking force. He meets them head-on, crushing, overpowering, his rage spilling into every movement.

I try to fight. I throw a punch, dodge a blade, but my body is slow. My instincts are there, sharp and ready, but my strength is gone.

Something is wrong.

A hand grabs my shoulder.

I react instantly, twisting free, but I am not fast enough.

An arm slams into my ribs, knocking me off balance. A second later, pain explodes across my skull.

My vision blurs. The world tilts.

Someone yells my name, but it is too late.

The last thing I feel is my knees hitting the floor.

Then—

Nothing.