The room was dark, lit only by a thin strip of white light cutting across the floor.
Footsteps echoed.
A silhouette stepped forward—a girl, posture straight, expression unreadable. Half of her hair was cropped short, sharp and deliberate, while the other half fell long over her shoulder.
She wore a simple crop top, worn jeans, and a jacket pulled tight around her arms like armor.
"I am here, Father," she said.
Her voice was calm.
Flat. As if the emotion had already drained out before reaching her face.
The man in the gray suit did not turn immediately.
He sat with his back to her, fingers steepled, watching data scroll across a glass screen. Slowly, deliberately, he rotated his chair.
He was tall, composed, silver beginning to streak his dark hair.
His smile was smooth—practiced. The kind that belonged to someone who always believed he was right.
"Oh, Mira," he said, voice low and pleased. "Finally here."
Mira exhaled through her nose, eyes fixed on him.
"You're still doing this," she muttered. "How many more 'scientific experiments' do you need? You're making innocent things suffer."
Her face didn't change—but the words carried something raw beneath them.
He laughed softly, rising from his chair.
"Suffer?" he echoed, amused. "No. They contribute."
He walked closer, polished shoes clicking against the floor. "Their blood is… unique. Adaptive. Powerful. A resource humanity would be foolish to ignore."
Mira's jaw tightened.
"I caught fourteen yesterday," he continued casually.
"I was aiming for fifteen, but the last one… disappeared." His smile sharpened.
"Unfortunate. But not unexpected."
He stopped in front of her, looking down just slightly. "Progress always demands sacrifice."
Mira's fists clenched at her sides. She hated this room. Hated the smell of metal and cold air. Hated how calm he sounded while talking about lives like numbers.
"This isn't progress," she said quietly. "It's cruelty."
For a moment, his expression hardened—then softened again into that same controlled smirk.
"You say that," he replied, "but you're still here."
She looked away.
Because she was.
Because no matter how much she hated what he did… she had sworn to protect his name.
His legacy.
His reputation.
Even if it meant standing in the shadow of something she despised.
The lights dimmed further.
And Mira remained still—silent, conflicted, bound by an oath she could not yet break.
Mira closed the office door behind her.
The soft click echoed louder than it should have.
She shut her eyes for a moment, breathing in slowly, forcing her shoulders to relax. Whatever she felt stayed buried—where it always did. Then she straightened and walked forward into the living room, the space warmer but no less heavy.
Brent was sprawled on the couch, one leg hooked over the armrest, scrolling lazily on his phone.
"You done?" he asked without looking up.
"Yes," Mira replied.
He glanced at her. "Still mad?"
She stopped near the window. "He's doing terrible things, Brent."
Brent shrugged. "He's doing important things."
She turned sharply. "That's what he wants you to think."
Brent scoffed. "You overthink everything. It's just science."
Mira's jaw tightened. "It's cruelty wearing a lab coat."
There was a brief silence.
He rolled his eyes, then changed the subject like it meant nothing."Anyway. There's this guy you'd probably like. From the science group."
Her gaze sharpened. "Science group?"
"Yeah," Brent said. "You were thinking about joining it, remember? You never did."
She remembered.
"You should've," he continued. "There's this kid—quiet, glasses, always looks like he's thinking three steps ahead. Name's Eliot."
Her fingers twitched slightly.
"He likes wolves," Brent added. "Not in a creepy way. Like… actually respects them. Talks about them like equals. Wants to be like them, not control them."
Mira blinked.
"That's…" she said quietly, "…kind of rare."
Brent smirked. "He's also easy to mess with. I teased him once. He barely reacted."
Her foot moved without thought.
Brent hissed as she kicked his leg. "What was that for?!"
She looked at him coldly. "Don't."
"Don't what?"
"Don't touch him again."
Brent stared. "You don't even know him."
"I know enough." She turned away. "And I'm joining the science group tomorrow."
He laughed. "Since when?"
She didn't answer.
As she walked down the hall, her thoughts tightened into something sharper.
If anyone can help me understand what Father is doing…If anyone can help me stop it…
Maybe it was the quiet boy who loved wolves.
And maybe—that was where everything would begin to change.
--
he detention room was dimmer than the hallway, lights buzzing faintly above like they were tired too.
Theo sat at the front desk, elbows planted, hands over his face.
"This is academic oppression," he groaned softly. "All I did was encourage independent thought."
Lunara sat beside him, back straight, legs crossed neatly. The black beanie hugged her head tightly, stretched just enough to keep her pointed ears pressed flat beneath it. Every so often one twitched, fighting the fabric. Her oversized coat draped over her shoulders, sleeves too long, hem brushing the floor—swallowing her frame like it was trying to hide what she was. The coat didn't belong to her, but it clung anyway, heavy and protective.
She looked bored. Deeply bored.
Her yellow eyes stayed locked on the teacher like he'd personally offended her bloodline.
The door opened again.
Leon stepped in first, calm and unreadable. Rex followed, whispering, "Why does detention feel colder?" Eliot came last, tugging at the cuffs of Theo's blazer—still too big, still ridiculous.
Theo peeked through his fingers. "You came."
"We were told to accompany," Rex said solemnly.
Leon leaned against a desk. "And to make sure you don't cry."
Theo sniffed. "I already did."
Lunara sighed. "Humans cry very easily."
They leaned closer, whispering anyway.
"We'll fix the portal," Theo said quickly, glasses slipping as he gestured. "Rewire it properly this time. Stabilize the field. We just need—"
"At least now," Lunara interrupted, voice calm, sharp, final, "I have time to tell you."
Everyone fell silent.
She leaned back in her chair. The beanie shifted slightly; the coat creased around her shoulders as if bracing.
The room blurred.
The wolf realm breathed.
Warm air. Stone arches grown, not built. Symbols carved deep into pale rock, glowing faintly like they remembered things. Fur brushed past fur. Laughter echoed.
Lunara stood there—smaller.
Her mother adjusted Lunara's sleeve, smiling. Her father spoke nearby, voice steady. Her brother leaned close, whispering something that made her roll her eyes.
Then the sky broke.
A portal tore open—violent, wrong. Wind screamed through the arches. The ground shuddered.
Wolves ran.
One by one they were dragged toward the light—eleven of them—claws scraping stone, voices breaking.
"Lunara!" her mother cried.
Her father shoved her back hard. "Run!"
Her brother reached for her—
The pull took them.
The portal snapped shut.
Silence.
Lunara dropped to her knees, hands shaking against the stone, head bowed. Her shoulders trembled as she tried not to scream.
Another portal opened.
Smaller. Flickering.
Without thinking, she ran.
The detention room returned with a hum.
Theo was frozen. Rex's mouth hung open. Leon's expression had gone dark and still.
Eliot pushed his glasses up, fingers unsteady.
"That last portal," Lunara said quietly, tugging the coat tighter around herself, "was yours."
Theo swallowed hard. "Oh."
Eliot's glasses slid again. He didn't notice.
"That's how I ended up here," she continued, eyes sharp, pain tucked just beneath the surface. "And I still hate that you brought me."
She looked at them—really looked.
Theo sniffed. "That… feels justified."
The teacher cleared his throat.
Lunara turned her head slowly.
He immediately pretended to read.
Leon exhaled. "Then we fix it."
Rex nodded quickly. "No more portals. No more wires."
Eliot met her gaze. "We'll help you."
Lunara didn't answer.
But she didn't pull away when the coat slipped further around her shoulders either.