•East Storage House•

[Ann’s POV] 𝙧𝙚𝙚𝔀𝒆𝓫𝓷𝙤𝓿𝒆𝙡.𝒄𝙤𝓶

The moment Chief Gareth left us in the storage house, the air thickened with the scent of dust and aged wood—dry, musty, clinging to the back of my throat. I flicked on the light, revealing piles of sacks stuffed with stolen goods. Philip immediately strode forward, his boots scuffing against the rough floorboards as he crouched to inspect the nearest bundle.

"These are all mixed together—textiles, household items, food supplies," he observed, fingers deftly untying a sack. The fabric rustled as it fell open, exposing a jumble of belongings. "We should organize them by category so the merchants can identify their goods more easily."

I nodded, rolling up my sleeves. "You’re the merchant. I’ll follow your lead."

Philip chuckled as he pulled out a crimson jewel that caught the light, its facets glittering. "So many expensive items here," he mused, rolling it between his fingers. "If these had no owners, I’d be tempted to keep a few."

I fixed him with a flat, unblinking stare. The air around us seemed to grow colder. "If the previous owner’s deceased, I hope their ghost follows you home."

He laughed, the sound echoing off the wooden walls. "At your age, you still believe in ghosts?"

"No," I admitted, carefully sorting through a pile of folded silks. "But Lady Ovelia does. And if she believes it, I will act as though it is true."

Philip’s smile softened, but he said nothing. The silence stretched, filled only with the rustle of sorted goods.

As we worked, my mind wandered back to the way Sir Ace’s gaze darkened whenever Philip spoke to Ovelia. The tension was subtle but unmistakable—like a wolf tracking a potential rival.

"Philip," My voice cut through the quiet.

He glanced up, a length of silk draped over his arm. "Hm?"

"I’m curious. What happened between you and Lady Ovelia on the rooftop?"

A slow smile spread across his face as he resumed folding the fabric. "We talked about my late sister," he said, his voice quieter now. "Ovelia pretended to be her for a little while." He paused, meeting my eyes. "Don’t worry—I’m not planning to steal her from Ace. I just... can’t see her as anything but a sister now." His fingers stilled on the silk. "Selfish, maybe, but even though we’re not related by blood, I want her in my life that way."

Before I could respond, the door screeched open. Chief Gareth filled the doorway, flanked by merchants whose eyes immediately darted to the sorted piles.

"Sorry for the delay," the chief rumbled. "They were packing their own things—they plan to leave the village today as well."

The merchants murmured their thanks as they filed in, their eyes scanning the sorted goods. I watched closely, hoping they’d be honest about what truly belonged to them.

•North Storage House•

[Kai’s POV]

The hinges groaned as Shin pushed the storage room door open. Inside, the prisoners lay in haphazard piles, still unconscious—except for Khaleed. His eyes snapped to us the moment we entered, wide with fury and fear, his mouth still sealed with duct tape.

I grinned. "Good morning, Khaleed."

Then I shifted. Bones cracked, fur sprouted, and within seconds, I stood before him as a full-grown werewolf. Around me, my men and Shin did the same, their low growls filling the room.

Shin arched a brow. "Does he deserve a greeting from you?"

I chuckled, the sound rough in this form, and clapped Shin on the back. "Of course. Everyone deserves courtesy." Then I hefted three unconscious witches over my shoulder. "Load the prisoners into the wagon," I ordered, and my men moved swiftly.

As we worked, Shin fell into step beside me, his arms full of unconscious form. "Kai," he said quietly.

"Yeah?" I dumped the witches into the wagon with a thud.

Shin’s expression was grim. "That black magic restraints bothers me. Stray werewolves might cooperate with witches, but they couldn’t afford mass production like that. So, it must be..."

I froze. Something cold slithered down my spine.

He met my gaze, and the realization hit us at the same time.

"Werewolf hunters," we said in unison.

•Northwest Thunoa Forest•

[Ray’s POV]

Damp earth yielded silently under my paws as we moved through the forest. The air hung heavy with the scent of pine resin and rotting leaves, the canopy filtering sunlight into dappled patterns on the forest floor. We were nearly at the cage site when an acrid stench cut through the natural smells—sharp, chemical, unmistakable.

Gunpowder.

I raised a fist, bringing our group to an immediate halt. The men froze behind me, their breathing shallow and controlled.

"You’ve got sharp senses, General," Colt murmured, his nose wrinkling. "That’s definitely gunpowder."

We scanned the surrounding trees, the dappled sunlight making patterns on the forest floor. Then came the distinct sound of hoofbeats from the direction of the cage.

"New orders," I said, keeping my voice low. "We proceed—but stay hidden. And stay sharp." My claws unsheathed on instinct. The men nodded, their expressions hardening.

As we ghosted forward, the gunpowder stench grew overwhelming. Through a gap in the foliage, I spotted two figures circling the cage. Human scents—sweat, steel, and something sickly sweet beneath it all.

Colt’s whisper was barely audible. "What’re humans doing this deep in—"

Then I saw the silver badge with wolf’s head at its center near their chest. My blood ran cold. "Werewolf hunters," I breathed.

Colt’s eyes widened. "You think they’re with the bandits?" His jaw muscles jumped beneath his fur.

The hunters were arguing now. I signaled for absolute stillness, watching as my men melted behind tree trunks. We became shadows among shadows.

"—information was solid," the hat-wearing one spat, adjusting his wide-brimmed headgear. "Crimsonheart and Silverhowl forces did come for those bandits."

His companion kicked the dirt, the pistol in his grip catching sunlight. "Two fucking days of riding for nothing!"

Colt’s breath hitched beside me. "How do they have guns? Those are banned everywhere—even the black market doesn’t deal in them anymore."

I clenched my fists until my knuckles whitened. "Looks like these bastards are making their own," I growled.

The armed hunter continued, "We came for the prototype black magic restraints and to meet the witch. That plan’s ruined now." He spat on the ground. "Now what?"

Hat-man straightened his collar. "We report back. Immediately."

As they turned to leave, I gave the signal. "Take them alive," I ordered. The men nodded, muscles tensing.

We burst from cover with coordinated precision. The hunters whirled, their faces draining of color. I lunged for the gunman. His finger squeezed the trigger—the explosion of gunfire shattered the forest quiet.

Heat seared across my cheek as the bullet grazed me. Warm blood trickled down my face. Before I could reach him, the bastard smiled—a cruel, knowing grin. With his free hand, he threw open his coat.

My stomach dropped. Wrapped around his torso was an intricate network of wires and explosives. The other hunter revealed an identical device.

"DAMN IT!" The curse tore from my throat as I threw myself backward. "EXPLOSIVES! DISPERSE NOW—"