The last breath of wind swept over the blood-stained clearing, rustling the forest canopy like the whisper of a buried secret. Brendon stood alone now, the fire of battle extinguished, the beasts driven back or felled beneath his claws.
His chest rose and fell rapidly as the transformation wore off. The dense fur along his arms receded, his claws curled back into fingers, and the burning amber hue of his eyes slowly returned to hazel. Muscles softened beneath his skin, and he staggered briefly, catching his breath.
Brendon glanced down at himself.
"Huh..." He flexed his shoulder. A faint rip traced beneath the armpit of his shirt. "Gotta sew this again," he muttered, tugging the torn cloth with a smirk.
The forest around him was still. Not dead—just... holding its breath. As if the trees themselves watched him.
He rubbed his neck, now sweaty and stiff, and began walking west—toward the city. His boots crunched against dirt and leaves, his senses gradually easing back into the realm of the human.
His mind, however, was far from calm.
That ritual. The cloaked figures. The bonfire.
Something's not right, he thought. It's all tied together—the disappearances, the folklore, the caves, even Amelia and Natasha. But what's the missing link?
He shook his head.
"No," he whispered aloud, as if trying to discipline his own thoughts. "Stop overthinking it, Brendon. First... talk to Zoe. Find out what she was doing there."
He followed a narrow trail marked only by broken branches and half-covered footprints. The air was thicker now, less threatening. He guessed he was nearing the edge of the forest. The chirping of birds returned, and distant waves crashed faintly from the shore.
Then, from between two twisted trees, a figure emerged.
Tall. Thin as bone.
Hair like winter frost, braided in thick cords down his back.
His coat—if one could call it that—was stitched from different hides and polymers, symbols scrawled in alchemical patterns across the fabric. Surgical instruments clinked gently from loops on his belt.
"Ah!" the man exclaimed, holding up both hands in greeting. "A rare sight! Someone walking out of these woods alive."
Brendon's guard went up instantly. He stopped walking, keeping a few cautious steps between them.
"Who are you?"
The man tilted his head, eyes glittering silver in the faint sunlight.
"Dr. Vaelrick Grimm," he said with a low bow. "Field researcher, herbalist, licensed madman—take your pick."
Brendon narrowed his gaze. "What are you doing in here?"
Grimm grinned. "Gathering herbs, of course. You'd be surprised what thrives near death rituals and ancient soil. It's said the more blood spilled on earth, the richer its roots grow."
Brendon didn't laugh. "That's morbid."
"Science often is," Grimm said, then took a step closer and peered curiously at Brendon's arm. "You've been... fighting?"
Brendon looked down at the dried blood and faint claw marks. "Let's say I had a disagreement with some locals."
Grimm chuckled. "They didn't leave you in pieces. Impressive."
Brendon didn't respond.
"I'm researching hybrid physiology," Grimm continued, clearly not bothered by Brendon's caution. "How unique bodies respond to natural stimuli. Specifically herbal reactions. For example, wolfsbane—it doesn't kill a werewolf, as old tales suggest. But it can induce seizures in hybrids, depending on strain."
Brendon stiffened, subtly hiding his clawed hand in his pocket. "Interesting."
"Don't worry," Grimm added smoothly. "I have no interest in harming hybrids. Only understanding them."
He pointed to the distant hill behind him.
"The town's that way. Follow the slope and you'll see rooftops by dusk."
Brendon gave a faint nod. "Thanks."
As he moved to walk past, Grimm's voice floated again.
"If you do come across anything... unusual... I'd love to examine it. I pay well."
Brendon didn't answer. He just kept walking.
And for once, Grimm didn't follow.
---
Brendon broke through the final line of trees, stepping out onto a gravel pathway that curved toward the eastern edge of Lagooncrest. The forest had loosened its grip at last, and though he'd made it out, the shadows still clung to him like burrs.
He exhaled slowly, adjusting the collar of his shirt, still damp from sweat and streaked faintly with blood. The tear under his arm itched with every movement.
"Really need to sew this... or get a new shirt," he muttered again.
The trail veered toward a small service road. Beyond it, he could see the silhouette of the town in the distance—shingled roofs, the pale shimmer of the city's harbor, and the faint buzz of traffic beyond. Civilization.
But before he could take another step forward, someone came running from the opposite direction.
Zoe.
"Brendon!"
She almost stumbled in her rush, eyes wide, her arms swinging in desperate relief. Her coat was unbuttoned, hair unkempt, and she looked like she hadn't stopped moving since she'd left the police station.
Brendon's face hardened.
"Zoe?! What the hell are you doing here?"
She stopped just in front of him, panting, flushed from the run. "I—I had to come check on you! You were in there too long. I thought—" she hesitated, swallowing back emotion. "I thought something happened."
Brendon narrowed his gaze, stepping closer. His voice came out low but edged with frustration. "I told you to go to the station. What happened to Liam? Did you meet him?"
Zoe lowered her eyes, guilt flickering across her face like a shadow. "No," she said, barely above a whisper. "I went straight there… but the front desk officer told me Liam was absent today."
Brendon's brows furrowed, and his expression darkened. "Absent? That's just great." He took a step back, running a tense hand through his already tousled hair. "And the others? Sergeant Harlow? Marshal Vinn?"
"They didn't help," Zoe replied quickly, her voice trembling now—not from fear, but sheer frustration. "I told them it was urgent. That people might be in danger. I even said I had seen something—a group doing some sort of ritual in the woods. But the guy at the front just looked at me like I was wasting his time."
She laughed, bitterly. "He told me to 'take a seat and wait like everyone else.' Said they were short-staffed and too busy dealing with a break-in across town."
Brendon's jaw tightened. "That's typical," he muttered, eyes distant. "God forbid something real shows up on this island."
Zoe's tone sharpened. "I begged them, Brendon. I told them I needed to talk to Liam. I asked if they could at least radio him or call him, but they refused. Said unless I had a warrant or a direct emergency authorization, they couldn't do anything more."
Brendon scoffed, his anger simmering now, just beneath the surface. "Of course they did. It's always red tape and regulations with them. They don't lift a finger until someone's bleeding out in the lobby."
Zoe nodded solemnly, wrapping her arms around herself. "I kept thinking… what if you were in trouble? What if something happened to you while I was stuck there behind a numbered ticket?"
He looked at her, eyes softening slightly. "I told you to go for help so I could handle the rest. I didn't expect you to charge back into danger."
"And I didn't expect to be stonewalled by the people who are supposed to protect us," she shot back. "What was I supposed to do? Sit there and wait while you got hurt… or worse?"
Brendon sighed through his nose, tension slowly draining from his shoulders. He knew she wasn't wrong. The station had a history of turning a blind eye when it mattered most. That's why he trusted Liam, and Liam alone.
"I get it," he finally said, his voice calmer, more grounded. "You did what you thought was right."
"I just… didn't want to lose anyone else," she whispered.
Brendon sighed heavily, his shoulders sagging for the first time all day.
Then, his voice grew sharp again. "Why were you there in the first place, Zoe? Why did you go near Duckinghum woods alone?"
Zoe bit her lip. "I saw him."
Brendon blinked. "Who?"
"My brother. Carlos."
Brendon froze. Every muscle in his body seemed to still.
"What?"
"This morning," Zoe said quietly. "I saw someone who looked exactly like him in town. He was wearing a hoodie, trying to keep his head low. But I'd know that walk anywhere. I tried to follow him, but he disappeared. Then I noticed a trail heading out of town. So I followed it. It led me to that side of the forest."
"Zoe..."
"I had to know," she pressed. "I had to see if it was really him. And if it was, why was he hiding?"
Brendon looked away. The wind tugged gently at his torn shirt. He clenched his jaw.
"And that's when you saw the bonfire?"
Zoe nodded. "Yeah. And then... you found me."
For a long moment, silence stretched between them.
Then Brendon exhaled, long and slow.
"Okay," he said finally, voice calmer. "Let's get you back home. Your mom's probably worried sick."
Zoe opened her mouth to argue, but thought better of it. She nodded.
Brendon gently placed a hand on her back and turned her toward the trail.
But even as they began walking back toward town, his thoughts were racing again.
Carlos. Alive?
A cult operating near Duckinghum.
A missing officer. A blocked emergency call.
And Dr. Vaelrick Grimm, conveniently roaming the woods in the middle of all of it.
Something isn't adding up.
And Brendon has a terrible feeling... the worst is still ahead.