While the shadow guided Mira through the eerie, shifting landscape of the other side…
Things weren't going any better for the rest.
Elias stood by the window, arms crossed, staring into the darkness. His thoughts were a storm—worry for Mira, for Lucien, for whatever came next.
Behind him, Dave paced like a caged animal. "I hate this. I hate waiting," he muttered.
Jonas sat at the table, sipping scotch. Slow. Methodical. The glass clinked softly against the ring on his finger each time he set it down.
Evelyn, the only one keeping her hands busy, tended to Lucien and Maria—checking pulses, wiping foreheads, whispering soft reassurances to bodies that wouldn't answer.
Then Elias noticed something.
Far down the street, just beyond the flickering reach of the streetlight…
A figure.
Still. Watching.
Elias tensed. "We might have company," he said quietly.
Dave rushed to the window. "Where?"
"There," Elias said, nodding toward the light.
The figure took a step forward. Then another.
Jonas set his glass down. "If he's bold enough to walk up to us alone… he ain't just anybody."
The tension snapped tight. No one spoke. No one blinked.
Then came the knock.
Three slow, deliberate knocks.
No one moved.
Then—again.
Three knocks.
Dave's hand went to his gun. "If he comes through, I'm shooting."
And then—
The door burst open.
Wood splintered. The figure moved like a force of nature.
Elias raised his weapon—but before he could aim, the man was there.
Two swift motions.
Elias' gun was ripped from his grip. His wrist cracked from the force.
The gun flew across the room—straight toward Dave's head.
Dave ducked just in time. The weapon smashed into the wall.
The man took three steps—and closed the distance.
Jonas, already moving, grabbed the nearest object on the table—
A bottle of scotch.
He threw it fast.
The man caught it midair. Effortless.
Then, without hesitation—he hurled it straight at Elias' head.
It shattered. Glass exploded. Elias reeled back, blood trailing down his face.
Dave lunged with a punch—
Caught.
The man locked his wrist with inhuman grip. Pulled him in close.
His voice was calm. Measured. But it hit like thunder.
"You boys are still rookies."
And then… he smirked.
Pulled down his hood.
The room froze.
No one spoke.
Jonas let out a low breath
About damn time. I was starting to think you died of old age… or dramatic timing."
The Old Wolf just smirked, eyes locking on Jonas with that same silent, deadly look.
Jonas didn't miss a beat.
"What? You knock twice, break the door down, throw a bottle at Elias, and still can't say hello?"
It was him.
The Old Wolf.