The alarm clock didn't wake Ethan.
The sound of his neighbor's toothbrush did.
Three walls away, across the narrow hallway of the apartment building, he could hear it—clear as if it were happening beside his ear.
Scritch. Scritch. Scritch.
The bristles dragged across enamel in a slow, repetitive rhythm that grated against his skull like sandpaper.
Ethan bolted upright.
His sheets clung to him, damp with a cold, greasy sweat. His chest heaved, heart slamming wildly against his ribs.
Thump-thump-thump-thump.
Too fast.
Too hard.
Wrong.
He fumbled for his phone.
7:15 AM.
Morning.
Normal.
Safe.
The memory of the subway clawed its way back in anyway.
Silver eyes.
Bone snapping.
Teeth breaking skin.
Heat breathing against his neck.
Ethan squeezed his eyes shut.
"It wasn't real," he muttered.
But the tremor in his hands betrayed him.
"I need this to be normal."
He said it again.
And again.
Like repetition could force reality back into shape.
The shower didn't help.
The water hit his skin like needles—sharp, invasive. Every drop felt amplified, every shift in temperature exaggerated until it bordered on pain.
He gripped the wall, breathing through it.
When he looked into the fogged mirror, his reflection didn't comfort him.
It looked… refined.
Sharper cheekbones.
Tighter lines.
As if something underneath his skin was pulling him into a different shape.
By the time he stepped into the office, he had almost convinced himself.
Almost.
The familiar glow of his monitor felt like an anchor.
Numbers.
Spreadsheets.
Predictable logic.
Delete the files. Run the projections. Answer the emails.
But the illusion shattered instantly.
The office wasn't quiet.
It was alive.
Too alive.
He could hear everything.
The wet churn of digestion from across the room.
The faint hitch in someone's breathing.
The irregular flutter of a stressed heartbeat.
And the smells—
God, the smells.
Stress burned sharp in the air, like overheated plastic.
Fear lingered underneath it, metallic and faint.
Every coworker radiated something.
Human.
Overwhelmingly human.
Ethan swallowed hard.
"This isn't just me," he whispered.
"Something else is happening."
The breakroom TV flickered in his peripheral vision.
A cluster of coworkers stood gathered around it.
The ticker at the bottom bled red.
THIRD CASUALTY IN EAST RIVER 'ANIMAL ATTACKS' — POLICE URGE CAUTION
"It's a cult," Sarah said, arms crossed tightly. "No animal does that. They said the bodies were… disassembled."
Ethan froze.
The footage showed a cordoned park.
Police tape.
Dark stains.
And gouges in the ground.
Deep.
Violent.
Exactly like the ones he had left in steel.
His stomach twisted.
He turned away.
Back to his desk.
Back to control.
He opened a private browser.
Typed fast.
Manhattan animal attacks.
Silver eyes.
Unidentified predators city incidents.
The results flooded in.
Noise.
Conspiracy.
Buried reports.
Then—
Something different.
A forum thread.
Three years old.
Half-deleted.
They aren't dogs.
They aren't people.
If you smell pine in the city—run.
If you see silver—
The page refreshed.
Gone.
404 — File Not Found
Ethan stared at the blank screen.
For a second—
It flickered.
Not like a glitch.
Like something had touched it.
His reflection stared back from the dark monitor.
Except—
It wasn't just his.
Something stood behind him.
Tall.
Still.
Watching.
Ethan turned—
Nothing.
The office continued as if nothing had happened.
His pulse spiked.
Cold dread slid down his spine.
"You're not searching anymore."
The voice brushed against his mind.
Soft.
Controlled.
Ethan's breath caught.
A pause.
"You're being led."
He spun in his chair.
Empty air.
Miller approached, holding coffee.
Oblivious.
Human.
"Lin? You okay? You look like you're about to snap," Miller said.
"I'm fine," Ethan said too quickly.
Miller frowned but shrugged.
"Sarah's looking for the Q3—"
He reached out.
Toward Ethan's shoulder.
Ethan moved.
Not thinking.
Not choosing.
Reacting.
His hand shot up.
Locked onto Miller's wrist.
Hard.
Too hard.
"Don't touch me."
The words came out low.
Almost a growl.
Miller gasped.
"Lin—you're hurting me!"
Ethan's vision flickered.
Silver.
Violet.
Heat pulsed beneath Miller's skin.
Blood.
Flowing.
Alive.
For one terrifying second—
Ethan wanted to crush it.
Snap bone.
Tear flesh.
He blinked.
The world snapped back.
He released him.
Red marks bloomed instantly across Miller's wrist.
"I'm sorry," Ethan said quickly.
Too quickly.
Miller backed away.
Eyes wary now.
Different.
"Yeah… you better be," he muttered.
Ethan sat down slowly.
His hand rested on the desk.
The laminate had cracked.
Clean.
Split.
Like pressure had been applied far beyond human limits.
He stared at it.
Then stood.
He couldn't stay.
The elevator ride felt suffocating.
The moment the doors opened, he stepped out.
And felt it.
Heat.
At the back of his neck.
Watching.
He turned.
Across the street—
A man stood in a glass building.
Perfect suit.
Perfect posture.
Not moving.
Just watching.
Ethan.
The man raised a hand.
Held something small.
Black.
Flicker.
Gone.
Ethan staggered back.
"Someone is watching," he whispered.
"They're tracking me."
He pushed out into the street.
The city felt wrong now.
Too many eyes.
Too many angles.
Every reflection felt like a camera.
Every stranger a potential observer.
"Don't run, Ethan."
The voice again.
Closer.
"It only makes this more interesting."
"Get out of my head," he muttered.
He ducked into a café.
Sat.
Opened his bag.
His hand hit something solid.
Wrong.
He pulled it out.
A manila envelope.
Unfamiliar.
Sealed.
With a crescent moon.
His breath slowed.
Then tightened.
He opened it.
Photos.
Him.
At the subway.
At his desk.
At his door.
Always watched.
Always known.
Then—
The document.
SUBJECT: ETHAN LINSTATUS: PHASE 1 CONVERSION — STABLEOBSERVATION: HIGH ADAPTABILITYPOTENTIAL: ALPHA CANDIDATE
His pulse roared.
At the bottom—
Elegant handwriting.
She is coming for you tonight.
Be ready.
Ethan's hands trembled.
He looked up.
The café was normal.
Except—
The man in the charcoal suit stood by the door.
Watching him.
Still.
Unblinking.
He tapped his watch.
Once.
Ethan looked down at the photo again.
His apartment door.
And in the reflection—
Her.
Tall.
Still.
Silver eyes.
Right behind him.
Timestamp:
02:14 AM
She had been there.
Inside.
While he slept.
Ethan's phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
A message appeared.
8:00 PM. Don't be late.
His breath stopped.
And in his mind—
Her voice.
Soft.
Certain.
"See you soon, little wolf."