“Seriously?” John’s voice was laced with irritation as he scowled at the floating blue window in front of him. His eyes flicked over the same words for the third time, hoping—praying—that maybe, just maybe, they would change.

  His jaw clenched. "What’s that even supposed to mean?" He exhaled sharply through his nose, willing his frustration down as he focused. Another blue window appeared.

  His grip tightened into fists at his sides. "I've been trying to make this damn thing work for hours." His voice dropped to a grumble, his shoulders tense. "I lowered the power, shrank the size—hell, I even tried channeling it through a different node." He threw his hands up, frustration boiling over. "Nothing. Fucking. Worked." His eyes flicked back to the glowing interface. "Looks like I have to increase this ‘System Integrity,’ whatever that means."

  A pause. A sigh.

  "...I don’t suppose you’d answer me?" The Ship, unsurprisingly, remained silent. John scoffed, shaking his head. "Of course." He leaned back in his chair, staring blankly at the ceiling. How much time had he wasted? Hours? Days? It all bled together in the sterile, lifeless interior of the Ship. The cold metal walls, the dim lighting, the faint hum of the hidden machinery—it all felt artificial, like he was floating in some liminal space, severed from reality.

  From his old life.

  His jaw tightened. Then—his Terminal buzzed.

  Chase: We got the goods.

  Chase: The operation will start sooner than expected. We can’t risk anyone finding us with those things.

  Chase: Meet me at the safehouse near the warehouse.

  John’s heart skipped. He swallowed hard. “So this is it.”

  His fingers hovered over the keyboard before finally typing in a command. A soft ding echoed through the room as the beige elevator materialized next to the entrance. "When I think about it, this safehouse is far from secret. At least from the Ship’s point of view." He let out a dry, humorless chuckle. The Ship’s map displayed a blurred, static-ridden image of the building—a sure sign of magical wards. It was a fortress disguised as an abandoned structure, something that should have blended in. But to the strange machine? It stood out like a blazing neon sign.

  John exhaled sharply, pushing himself to his feet. His eyes lingered on the sterile, metallic walls for a moment longer before he stepped out.

  The cool night air hit him like a splash of water.

  For a brief second, he closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. The crisp wind carried the scent of asphalt, gasoline, and distant rain. The city stretched out before him, a serpent of light weaving through the streets, headlights and neon signs flickering in the dark. The rumble of engines, the distant chatter, the occasional honk of a horn— sounds that once felt like home.

  Now?

  They felt further away than ever.

  His fingers curled into his palm. "Can’t go back."

  A wry smile tugged at his lips, but it didn’t reach his eyes as the safehouse loomed ahead. John stepped into the dimly lit room, a sense of déjà vu creeping over him like a cold breath down his spine. The air felt thicker this time. Urgent. Like the moment before a thunderclap.

  Six hulking figures turned in unison, the low light catching on curved claws and sharp teeth. Their golden eyes gleamed like embers beneath the ceiling orb, assessing, predatory. Ready for war. John swallowed hard. He knew this scene. He’d been here before. Everyone introduced themselves like the previous timeline, yet something was different. There was a weight behind their words, an undercurrent of a time limit.

  “Thomas.” Chase’s voice was calm, but John caught the edge of tension beneath it. Not the wary introduction of before. No, this time it felt like a checkpoint in a race. A necessary step before they moved forward.

  Carter wasted no time. “I’ll keep things short.” His voice carried the weight of command, his sharp eyes flicking over the group. “We have their trap locations mapped out thanks to Thomas’s efforts.” A nod toward John, brief but acknowledging. “And we’re going with his plan: we’re bringing the whole damn warehouse down on their heads.”

  John felt Cole’s skepticism before he even spoke. “How’s that supposed to work?” Cole clicked his tongue, arms crossed like a bouncer blocking a door. “And how can we be sure his intel is real? I couldn’t find shit, so—”

  “You’re just salty he stole your thunder.” Tyler grinned, his fangs flashing as he elbowed Cole in the ribs.

  Cole bared his teeth but said nothing, his tongue click sharp with annoyance.

  Carter moved on, snapping his fingers toward a pile of black leather backpacks. “That warehouse isn’t going down easy, so we brought some toys.”

  A few of the squad tilted their heads in curiosity. Then Chase reached into one of the bags and pulled out a basketball-sized brass orb.

  The room stilled.

  The orb was stitched together from thin metallic bands, every inch of it engraved in runes. The large red crystal at its core pulsed like a beating heart, distorting the air around it with raw power. Chase barely had time to tuck it back before Ethan bolted forward like a starved man chasing a feast. “Oh, you have GOT to be fucking kidding me.” His voice cracked into a deranged cackle. His hands twitched, practically vibrating as his gaze flicked between the backpacks like a kid in a candy store. “They actually let us have these? These? Do they have any idea what—”

  “Ethan.” Carter’s tone was firm.

  Ethan took a sharp breath and pulled himself together. Mostly. “Right, right.” He wiped his mouth, still grinning like a lunatic.

  John took a subtle step back.

  Carter sighed, rubbing his temple before gesturing at the warehouse blueprint pinned to the wall. “Here’s the plan.” His finger tapped on five red circles scattered across the sketch. “We plant the charges here. That should bring down the entire building.”

  Garrett leaned in, arms folded. “And Glamour? We’re in the middle of an industrial area. I don’t exactly feel like explaining a crater to the authorities.”

  “Handled.” Carter nodded toward a gray stone pillar about half his height. Its surface shimmered, minuscule green carvings shifting like running water.

  Garrett let out a low whistle. “You’re telling me they also gave you a Glamour Generator? That requisition form must have been a work of art.”

  Carter ignored the jab.

  Meanwhile, Ethan had his hands clasped together like a cultist at an altar. He stood over the explosives, muttering eldritch nonsense under his breath, his tail wagging.

  “What did I get myself into?” John thought, deliberately avoiding eye contact.

  Carter continued. “Ethan handles the fence. Then we deploy the Generator.” He pointed at Chase and Cole. “You two are the fastest, so you’ll handle planting the charges.”

  Garrett raised an eyebrow. “And the rest of us?”

  “Twiddle your thumbs until the fireworks start.” Carter smirked.

  “Oh, fuck off.” Garrett rolled his eyes.

  Then Tyler hesitantly raised a hand. “Uh… what if the warehouse doesn’t collapse?”

  Every head turned toward Ethan.

  His eyes gleamed.

  “Trust me.” He let out a giddy, borderline unhinged laugh. “That shit will be vaporized faster than—”

  He caught Carter’s glare and coughed. “I-I mean… the red mana crystal has enough amplification enchantments to guarantee structural failure.”

  John didn’t know what was more unsettling—Ethan’s split-second transformation into a professional or the fact that it was clearly forced.

  Garrett chuckled, shaking his head. “Even if some of them somehow crawl out of the rubble…” His lips curled back, revealing gleaming predatory fangs. “…I’ll be happy to fix that.”

  A silent understanding passed through the squad. Tonight, Ninth Street was getting wiped out. No matter what.

  John exhaled, his fingers drumming anxiously against his leg. “It won’t happen again. No one will die.”

  The whisper repeated in his mind as Carter gave the order.

  The squad moved like a well-oiled machine.

  John, Garrett, Cole, Chase, and Tyler strapped on their surprisingly light backpacks—though John couldn't shake the uneasy thought of carrying something that could turn him into mist if it malfunctioned.

  Ethan twirled his amethyst tube, practicing the motions to deactivate the fence wards, his tail flicking with excitement.

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  Carter grunted as he hoisted the Glamour Generator, the weight making his muscles strain.

  "How did you even bring that thing here?" John asked, eyeing the oversized stone pillar.

  Chase exhaled, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "With great difficulty," he muttered, his hollow expression saying far more than words ever could.

  The squad crept across the street, the tension thick enough to choke on. John’s pulse hammered in his ears as he kept his gaze locked on the warehouse, half-expecting shadowy figures to spill out, claws flashing, eyes gleaming with malice. Every step forward felt like a step into an ambush.

  “We’re in,” Ethan announced, his magic and claws making quick work of the chain-link fence. His tongue flicked over his lips as his gaze lingered on the explosives. His fingers twitched, barely restraining the urge to caress the deadly devices like a long-lost lover.

  "Drop the payload here," Carter whispered as he set the Glamour Generator down with practiced care. The rest followed suit, setting their backpacks down in a neat, ominous pile.

  Ethan tapped away at the glyphs on the Generator, his grin widening with each press. "She’s ready."

  “Wait for the charges,” Carter ordered.

  With a blur of motion, Cole and Chase vanished into the warehouse, returning only moments later to grab another set of explosives. The process repeated at breakneck speed until all the charges were in place.

  “All set,” Cole announced, crossing his arms.

  "All good on my end," Chase added.

  Carter took a slow, deep breath and stomped the ground. “LET’S GO!”

  The air shimmered as Ethan activated the Generator, conjuring a thick, milky-orange dome that swallowed the warehouse in an instant. The outside world wouldn’t hear or see a thing.

  Carter retrieved the detonator—a slim brass cylinder with a single, oversized red button. No ceremony. No hesitation. Just a sharp inhale before he pressed down.

  Silence.

  For a moment, nothing happened.

  Then—

  The world erupted.

  A deafening, blinding shockwave detonated outward, rattling John’s very bones. The force punched him square in the chest, throwing him backward as white-hot fire and pulverized metal spewed into the air. The roof—a multi-ton slab of reinforced steel and wood—did not simply collapse. It launched. Like a missile, it shot skyward, slicing through the air at terrifying speed. It didn’t stop at the top of the Glamour dome. It didn’t even slow down. It ripped straight through, almost shattering the illusion like fragile glass and continued its insane ascent, vanishing into the night sky.

  “Oh.” Carter scratched the back of his head, his voice oddly calm. “Didn’t think of that.”

  The squad stared, mouths agape, as a mushroom cloud of dust and embers billowed upward from the now cratered remains of the warehouse. There was nothing left. Not a wall. Not a support beam. Not even debris—just a charred, smoldering pit.

  And then—

  The roof came back down. The impact sent a fresh shockwave rippling through the air, sending smaller bits of rubble flying as the colossal structure buried itself in what was once the warehouse.

  A long silence followed.

  “I told you we brought too much,” Chase muttered, ears twitching from the residual ringing.

  “No need to yell, I’m not deaf,” Carter shot back, rubbing his temples. Then, after a pause, he added under his breath, “That roof really flew high…” His chuckle was weak, nervous. “I hope Mom didn’t notice.”

  “We’re in deep shit, aren’t we?” Tyler asked, arms crossed, eyes glued to the still-smoking wreckage. "Like, ocean trench deep?"

  “The mana signature alone will raise alarms,” Garrett said grimly. “Now, if people start talking about a flying roof—”

  “—We could just run.” Cole offered, voice unnervingly casual. “Pretend it had nothing to do with us.”

  “Right.” Ethan snorted. “Because the Ninth Street gang is totally known for possessing city-leveling explosives.”

  “They didn’t know about the Scalebound magma beam,” Chase pointed out, shooting a glance at John. “If it weren’t for Thomas, we would’ve walked right into that death trap.”

  “Still doesn’t solve our problem,” Garrett grumbled. "I think I’m gonna take a long vacation. Somewhere… far. Who’s with me?"

  Tyler let out a shaky laugh. “Might take you up on that. That roof definitely reached orbit.”

  “Y-You’re exaggerating,” Carter stammered, pacing like a man on death row. “It couldn’t have gone that high…”

  "Boss, you’re delusional." Garrett folded his arms. "That roof flew faster than Cole when he sees unattended chicken.”

  Cole immediately punched him in the arm.

  Carter, meanwhile, buried his face in his hands. “Fuck me,” he groaned. “Fuck me.”

  John exhaled, trying to ground himself. He turned to Chase, who was staring at the crater, an unreadable expression on his face. “…So. What now?” He asked.

  “I… have no idea,” Chase admitted. “On one hand, we vaporized the Ninth Street gang, so that’s a win. On the other hand…” He gestured vaguely at the destruction. “We sent an entire roof into the stratosphere.” He exhaled sharply before lowering his voice. “You should leave. Now. If we’re lucky, the other Wolfheart Enforcers are still scrambling for a response.”

  John hesitated. “What about the others?” He gestured at the squad, who were still standing in dazed horror, as if awaiting divine judgment.

  “I’ll figure something out.” Chase smirked. “Tell them you’re some top-secret agent working for Mom and that your involvement must remain a mystery.”

  “…They’ll believe that?” John raised an eyebrow.

  Chase glanced back at the squad. Garrett was still contemplating fake identities. Carter was in full existential crisis mode. Ethan was wiping drool off his face.

  “Look at them,” Chase deadpanned. “They’ll believe anything right now.”

  John didn’t argue. With one last glance at the absolute disaster they had caused, he slipped away into the night. A distant, rhythmic pounding echoed through the ruined warehouse district like the heartbeat of an approaching storm. The squad froze, eyes widening in horror as the vibrations crawled up their spines. Chase’s ears twitched. He knew that mana signature—pure, unfiltered wrath wrapped in raw, electrified mana.

  "Here we go," he muttered, already bracing himself.

  A collective shudder ran through the squad.

  "I-It’s been an honor, boss," Garrett said, snapping into a rigid salute, his face drained of all color.

  Then, they stepped through. A wall of heavily armored werewolves, clad in reinforced black plate, emerged from the shimmering veil of the Glamour shield, moving in perfect formation. Their presence alone sent an instinctual chill through the air, but at the center of their formation was a figure far more terrifying than the entire battalion combined.

  Alice Wolfheart. The Matriarch of the Wolfheart Enforcers was small in stature, but the sheer authority she radiated made her feel ten feet tall. Ice-blue eyes cut through the squad like sharpened daggers, her steel-gray hair bound so tightly in a bun that it seemed to pull the air taut around her. Thick, black plate armor adorned her frame, and as she stepped forward, arcs of blue electricity crackled around her gauntlets, hissing against the pavement.

  Carter yelped and immediately lowered his head, tail practically curling between his legs. Chase swallowed hard, willing himself not to disappear into the concrete.

  Alice stopped just inches away from Carter, her gaze flicking to Chase before settling back on the crater.

  Then, with deliberate precision, she raised a single gloved hand— The slap echoed like a gunshot. Chase winced. Carter staggered, clutching his cheek, but the real pain was in his eyes.

  “WHAT. THE. FUCK.” Alice’s voice rang out, each word a seismic event. Every hair on Chase’s body stood on end as raw mana radiated from her, thickening the air. The temperature plummeted, and frost bloomed across the nearby wreckage. A discarded steel sheet let out an agonized creak as ice formed across its surface. Carter flinched but didn’t dare speak.

  “I give you one—ONE—simple assignment.” Alice inhaled sharply, exhaling through gritted teeth as she stomped the ground. The pavement beneath her cracked. “A basic cleanup job! Dispatch some pathetic street gang and be done with it. And yet—” She whirled around, pointing a trembling, furious finger at the smoldering crater. “THIS HAPPENED!”

  Carter shrank back as Alice’s voice rose into a shrill, furious pitch.

  Chase swallowed. “I-It wasn’t that bad, we—”

  Alice turned, fixing him with the kind of glare that could peel paint off walls. He instantly shut up.

  “A roof flew into the air.” Alice’s voice was deadly quiet now, trembling with suppressed rage.

  Chase bit his lip.

  “A THIRTY-TON PIECE OF STEEL.” She wheeled back to Carter, who was now actively trying to merge with the floor. “INTO. THE. SKY.” Her voice climbed in intensity with each syllable. “HOW IS THAT EVEN POSSIBLE?!”

  Carter’s mouth opened and closed uselessly, his pupils shrinking to pinpricks.

  Chase’s fingers scrambled through his pocket. “W-We have evidence of Scalebound involvement,” he blurted, yanking out the folded piece of paper like a lifeline and shoving it toward her.

  Alice’s furious gaze snapped to him, then the paper. For a tense second, she didn’t move. Then, slowly, she took it, unfolding it with a sharp flick of her wrist. Her eyes scanned the image—John’s photograph of the magma beam.

  Silence. The frost stopped creeping.

  “Where did you get this?” she asked, voice clipped.

  “We scouted first,” Chase rushed to explain. “Found these experimental Scalebound weapons—so we changed our approach.”

  Alice’s grip tightened on the paper. “And you vaporized all the evidence.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Idiots. All of you. I should have you cleaning toilets for a year.”

  Chase didn’t even dare to argue.

  Alice turned sharply, scanning the scene. Her gaze landed on the still-humming Glamour Generator, her lips curling in irritation. “Who approved this idiotic plan?” she demanded.

  No one spoke.

  Alice’s eye twitched. “Using that many red mana crystals bathed the entire neighborhood in a dense mana cloud! We thought the Scalebound launched a damn invasion.”

  Carter let out a small, pained noise.

  Alice narrowed her eyes. “Don’t tell me…”

  Carter inhaled. Exhaled. Wished he were dead. “…We didn’t ask,” he whispered.

  Silence.

  Alice blinked. Once. “What.”

  Carter winced. “We didn’t ask,” he repeated in the smallest voice known to werewolf-kind.

  The next slap sent him staggering two feet back. Chase barely had time to brace before Alice’s palm whipped across his face next. His head snapped to the side, ears ringing.

  “YOU. TOOK. TWENTY. BOMBS. WITHOUT. ASKING?!” Alice’s voice hit a register that probably shattered glass somewhere. “TWENTY.” SLAP. “FUCKING.” SLAP. “BOMBS?!”

  Chase wasn’t even sure who she was slapping at this point. He just stood there and accepted his fate.

  “You could have DIED!” Alice shouted, stomping the ground again, this time sending cracks spiderwebbing across the pavement. “WHY ARE YOU LIKE THIS?!” She suddenly inhaled sharply, turning away. “They don’t even care about their poor mother,” she muttered under her breath, but loud enough for them to hear.

  Chase and Carter exchanged a cautious glance.

  After a long, tense moment, Alice exhaled. Her shoulders dropped slightly, and she flicked a hand toward her enforcers. “Clean it up.”

  The armored werewolves immediately moved, silent and efficient.

  Carter hesitated. “So… what happens now?” he asked, still nursing his throbbing cheek.

  Alice groaned. “Now, we cover for your idiocy. The media is being scrubbed, memory alteration potions are already being distributed. We’re working overtime to keep this from becoming a major incident.”

  “A-Are we in trouble?” Chase ventured cautiously.

  Alice turned to him slowly.

  Chase immediately regretted everything.

  “You did complete the mission,” Alice admitted. “But you nearly broke the Masquerade, stole from inventory, and caused untold financial damage that’ll take months to fix.”

  Then, she smiled.

  A slow, saccharine, absolutely demonic smile.

  Chase’s stomach dropped.

  “What do you think, Chase?” she asked, voice sweet as poisoned honey.

  Chase gulped.

  They were so, so screwed.

  John lounged in the dimly lit control room of the Ship, one leg draped lazily over the other as he scrolled through his phone. The soft hum of the engines filled the silence, punctuated only by the occasional flicker of status lights dancing across the control panels.

  His eyes darted across the screen, skimming headlines, refreshing feeds, checking every major social platform. He inhaled sharply, anticipation curling in his chest. Surely someone had noticed.

  A thirty-ton slab of steel had just flown into the sky.

  But there was nothing. No trending tags, no grainy cell phone videos, no half-baked conspiracy theories. Not even some random lunatic claiming it was aliens.

  John tilted his head.

  “Did that Glamour shield really work?” he muttered, his thumb hovering over the refresh button. He exhaled a short chuckle, shaking his head as he leaned back. “Fuck me, we really did blow up an entire warehouse.” The absurdity of it replayed in his mind—flames licking at shattered beams, shockwaves rippling through the air, the roof itself soaring like a makeshift spaceship. He could almost hear Chase and Carter’s panicked screaming as they realized what they had just done.

  His grin lingered for a second before fading. “I hope those two aren’t in too much trouble,” he mused, rolling a fresh cigarette between his fingers. Then, a shadow passed over his expression, his gaze darkening. “But better to be in trouble than dead.”

  The weight of those words settled in his chest. A phantom sensation crawled up his arm, and his fingers twitched. Slowly, he turned his hand over, staring at his palm.

  For a fleeting moment, it wasn’t his hand at all. It was something else—something monstrous, twisted, clawed.

  His breath hitched.

  Clicking his tongue, he clenched his fist and turned away, shoving the thought back into the recesses of his mind.

  Not now. Not again.

  He exhaled through his nose, shaking off the lingering unease before setting the cigarette between his lips. His lighter flicked open with a metallic snap, flame flaring briefly before he took a slow drag. “No more distractions,” he murmured, his voice firmer now. His gaze lifted toward the Ship, the sleek, enigmatic machine that had changed his fate. He could feel its silent presence, its incomprehensible depths waiting to be unraveled.

  His lips curled into a determined smirk. “Now, I have to figure out what makes you tick.”