The city had been smaller then.
Fewer lights. Fewer towers. But the darkness had always been there.
Elena Carter stood on the edge of a rooftop, the moon hanging low above her like a watchful eye. The mark burned faintly beneath her skin, warm but controlled. She breathed in the night air, filtering the city through senses she had learned to master long ago.
Below her, the streets slept.
Behind her, footsteps approached.
"You shouldn't be out alone," a man said.
Elena didn't turn. "You shouldn't be following me."
The man stopped a few feet away. Tall. Calm. Human—but only on the surface. His name was Jonah Hale, and he wore the insignia of the early hunters stitched inside his coat.
"You're powerful," Jonah said. "Too powerful to pretend balance still exists."
Elena finally faced him. Her eyes glinted gold in the moonlight. "Balance exists because people like me protect it."
Jonah shook his head. "You protect monsters."
"I protect the city," she corrected.
They had once worked together. Long ago. Before fear crept in. Before humans decided control was safer than trust.
"You could end this war," Jonah said softly. "Join us. Help us contain your kind."
Elena laughed bitterly. "Contain?" She stepped closer. "You mean cage. Experiment. Kill."
Jonah's silence answered her.
From the shadows, others emerged—hunters armed with early weapons etched in glowing symbols. Elena's pulse quickened, but her stance remained steady.
"You promised neutrality," she said.
"And you promised secrecy," Jonah replied. "Yet wolves still roam free."
Elena understood then.
This was never a meeting.
It was a trap.
She moved first—fast, precise, controlled. Disarming, disabling, never killing. She had sworn that much to herself. The city didn't need more blood.
But numbers turned the tide.
A weapon flared. Pain exploded across her side. She staggered, catching herself on the rooftop ledge.
Jonah stepped forward, eyes full of regret. "I'm sorry. But the city chose its side."
Elena smiled faintly despite the pain.
"So did I."
She leapt.
Not to escape—but to lead them away.
Years later, Elena held her newborn son for the first time.
Alex.
The mark beneath her skin dimmed, transferring its weight, its promise. She kissed his forehead, tears slipping down her face.
"They'll come for you one day," she whispered. "But not yet."
She vanished from the world soon after—faking her death, erasing her trail, severing herself from the packs. She became human. Weak. Ordinary.
For him.
But blood remembers.
And the city never forgets.