Chapter 5: JULIAN

Nolan and Martha arrived at the fighting club trying to blend in and not raising suspicions while they waited for their Intel but the doorman was making it hard.

A man stepped in. Mid-40s. Built like a pit bull.

“Martha,” he said, smirking. “Didn’t think I’d see you down here with a badge.”

“I’m not here for nostalgia, Dante.”

Dante’s eyes flicked to Nolan. “You trust him?”

“I trust the badge. Talk.”

Dante opened a metal case, pulled out a stack of photos. “You’re looking for this guy.” He tossed a picture onto the bench. “Showed up two months ago. No name. Real quiet. Real fast. Broke three jaws and a collarbone his first night. Paid in cash. Disappeared like fog.”

Nolan narrowed his eyes on the photo.

Julian. Younger. But unmistakable.

“He’s not human,” Dante muttered, not even trying to sound sane. “I’ve seen a lot of tough bastards in that ring. But he moved like smoke. And when he smiled… he had fangs.”

Martha’s gaze sharpened. “He ever mention a gang? Friends? Collegues?.... A family?”

“No. But he called someone once. Used the name Victor.”

Nolan and Martha locked eyes.

“This is bigger than a string of murders,” she said.

Nolan nodded, voice grim. “This is a war.”

Later that day,

The storm rolled in without warning.

Clouds split across the sky like bruises, heavy with the scent of rain and something older.... Feral, electric, dangerous

Emilia stood at the edge of the field, heart thudding against her ribs. Her boots sank into the wet grass as wind tugged at her hair. She didn’t know why she’d come out here... only that something inside her pulled her like a string had been tied to her chest.

Behind her, Asher’s voice cut the wind.

“You feel it, don’t you?”

She turned. He was barefoot, shirtless, his skin still marred from the last fight. But his eyes… they were clear now. Steady. Burning faint gold beneath the shadowed sky.

“I don’t know what I feel,” Emilia said honestly.

Asher stepped closer. “It’s instinct. And it’s getting louder.”

She looked away, jaw tight. “It scares me.”

“It should,” he said. “It’s not human.”

Thunder growled. A crack of lightning lit the woods in the distance and for half a second, she thought she saw a silhouette standing just beyond the trees. Watching.

Victor.

But when she blinked, it was gone.

Asher reached out, gently touching her wrist. His fingers were warm against her chilled skin.

“We’re going to train,” he said.

Her eyebrows lifted. “Right now?”

“Especially now.”

They spent the next hour on the edge of the clearing. No punching bags. No yoga mats. Just ground, air, and instinct. Asher moved like a shadow.... silent, fluid, eyes never blinking. She mimicked him as best she could. He corrected her form. Slowed her breath. Pushed her without yelling.

And for a moment, just a flicker.... she didn’t feel afraid.

She felt powerful.

She felt.... Right

And then she collapsed into the grass, breathless.

Asher dropped beside her, sweat clinging to his collarbone. His smile was faint, but real.

“You’re a fast learner.”

“I’m a mess.”

“Same thing in our world.”

She looked at him, really looked. The old scars. The new ones. The faint golden shimmer of power just under his skin. She couldn’t tell where the pain ended and the strength began. Maybe they were the same.

“I keep dreaming of the crash,” she whispered. “But sometimes… I’m not in the car. I’m in the woods. Running. Barefoot. Fast.”

“You remember more each time,” he said. “Your body remembers what your mind forgets.”

He didn’t touch her. Not yet. But he was close. And that was enough.

Suddenly, Emilia jolted upright. “Do you smell that?”

Asher’s head snapped up. He was already moving.

They sprinted toward the house—through the kitchen, past the pantry, into the barn.

Smoke.

The barn doors hung open, swinging in the wind. Inside, hay smoldered in fat orange licks. The old truck hissed under a film of black soot. And carved into the wall, dug deep with clawed fingers, was a message:

"YOU BELONG TO THE ALPHA"

Asher’s hands curled into fists. “Julian.”

Emilia’s stomach turned. “We were just here. Someone got past us.”

“No,” Asher growled. “They wanted to be seen.”

They spent the next hour stomping out the flames. Emilia’s grandparents never stirred.

When they finally collapsed on the porch steps, soaked and breathing hard, Emilia leaned into Asher’s shoulder without thinking. And he didn’t move.

They sat like that for a long time.

Until her head drifted to his chest and she fell asleep to the sound of a heartbeat that didn’t feel like her own.

Some hours later,

The farmhouse creaked and groaned, its wooden bones settling into the evening calm. Emilia's grandparents exchanged worried glances, their brows furrowed in concern. With a voice hardly audible above a whisper, her grandmother inquired, "Where is Emilia?"

Their footsteps were silent on the weathered dirt paths as they scanned the farm. The fields were covered in long shadows as the sun sank below the horizon.

Emilia and Asher were sleeping on the porch steps when Emilia's grandmother noticed them as the stars started to shine. With her head resting on Asher's chest, Emilia's soft snores provided a sharp contrast to the chaos that frequently framed her face.

Asher's arms wrapped around her, holding her close as if shielding her from the world. A soft smile spread across her grandmother's face as she watched them sleep. She backed away quietly, leaving them to their peaceful slumber.

The woods loomed beyond the farmhouse, their darkness seeming to pulse with a life of its own. A pair of eyes watched from the shadows, fixed intently on Emilia's sleeping form.

The watcher remained still, a silent observer in the night. The trees seemed to lean in, as if sharing a secret, their branches tangling together like skeletal fingers. The wind rustled through the leaves, whispering secrets only the night could hear.