Chapter 2

Every light in Black Hollow flickered once—then died.

Phones across the room went black simultaneously, signal bars dropping to zero like dominoes falling.

"What the fuck?!" Silas lunged for his laptop, smashing keys. "Get it back online! NOW!"

"WiFi's down!" Someone shouted from the tech booth.

"Mobile data's dead!"

"RedMoon Net's showing 'connection terminated'—"

Good.

I watched from the darkness as panic rippled through the crowd like blood in water.

Mara's shriek cut through the chaos. "Who did this?! Someone fix it!"

They scrambled like ants whose hill just got kicked, trying backup networks, emergency hotspots, even the darknet's buried channels.

All blocked. All strangled. All mine.

Let them scramble.

Damon stood motionless in the chaos, head tilted slightly, and I knew he felt it—the shift in power, the invisible hand that just crushed their plans.

"It's not a malfunction," he said quietly, but his voice carried. "Someone cut us off."

Silas whirled on the tech team. "Backup servers! Storage drives! Tell me you saved something—"

"Everything's locked out, sir. Data storage, cloud backup, even local files—all encrypted with military-grade—"

They had no idea I'd been in their systems for weeks.

Every photograph, every video file, every degrading livestream they'd ever produced—I'd already copied the evidence and set the rest to self-destruct.

My sister's humiliation wouldn't exist beyond this room.

"Someone's playing games," Cole snarled, scanning the crowd. "Find them!"

Below, Lyra had collapsed to her side on the platform, shaking with silent sobs.

Hold on, little wolf. Just a little longer.

Then Hugo, the underground's sleaziest bookmaker, squinted at something on Lyra's waist.

His face went sheet-white.

"Wait—WAIT!" He stumbled forward, pointing with a trembling finger. "That crest! That's—"

"What crest?" Mara snapped.

"On her belt! That's the Stormfang Crest!" Hugo's voice cracked with hysteria. "The Stormfang Wolf Clan emblem!"

Now we're getting somewhere.

The room went silent except for Lyra's ragged breathing.

Stormfang Clan—the old bloodline, the storm wolves, the pack that once ruled before they were betrayed and scattered.

My pack.

Lyra lifted her head, hope flickering in her swollen eyes. "My sister—she's coming back—she'll—"

Serena's laugh was like glass breaking.

"Your sister?" She reached into her designer purse and pulled out an identical silver crest, holding it up to catch the emergency lighting. "You mean this? The REAL crest?"

That bitch.

"Lyra's wearing a fake," Serena purred, walking a circle around my sister like a shark. "A cheap knockoff she probably bought to feel important."

"She's lying!" Lyra gasped. "That's mine! She stole—"

Mara backhanded her across the mouth.

Blood sprayed across the platform.

"Shut your mouth, you fraud," Mara hissed. "Trying to claim Stormfang bloodline? You're pathetic."

"Strip her," Cole ordered. "Check for more fakes. Maybe she's got a whole costume back there."

"No—NO!" Lyra curled around her belly as hands reached for her.

The silver needle glinted again.

Mara grinned. "Forget the crest. Let's see who your pup's daddy is. Then we'll know what you're really worth."

That's it.

I moved.

---