Chapter 172

Aria

The trek back to the portal was long and tiring, and by the time we arrived at the mysterious little elevator in the woods, the sun was beating on our backs and a fine coat of sweat had formed between my skin and my jacket. Darren, Liam, and the Lunar Labs gang and I stepped into the elevator first, feeling the familiar sensation of movement as it carried us down to the first floor of the building.

Nothing could have prepared me for what awaited us when those elevators slid open.

Lunar Labs—once a gleaming beacon of scientific progress and, more recently, a symbol of hope for werewolf-human relations—lay in ruins before us. The building that Darren and I had poured so much of ourselves into over the past months was nearly unrecognizable.

“Oh my god,” I whispered, my steps faltering as I took in the destruction.

Windows were shattered, leaving jagged teeth of glass in their frames. The sleek exterior was marred with scorch marks where fires had burned. The front doors hung askew on broken hinges. But worst of all were the walls—covered in hateful red messages, the paint stained like blood on the once-pristine white canvas.

DEATH TO WOLVES. MONSTERS. GO BACK WHERE YOU CAME FROM.

It was so much worse now that I was seeing it in person.

The office area itself was even worse. The conference room where I’d given so many presentations was unrecognizable. Furniture was overturned and broken. Papers were covering the floor around the broken cubicles, filing cabinets smashed into crumpled bits, computer screens shattered.

However, no matter how heartbreaking the devastation was, we didn’t linger long—there was nothing left for us there anyway. Once the others had all congregated in the parking lot, we set off.

The walk to the city center was tense. Humans on the streets stopped to stare as we passed—a long line of werewolves and humans walking together. Some quickly ducked into stores or crossed to the other side of the street. Others pulled out phones to record us. No one seemed to know quite how to react, and now that we were in the city, our group felt far smaller and more ragtag than it had in the pack lands.

By the time we reached the city center plaza, a small crowd had gathered—curious onlookers, a few journalists, and what looked like a handful of supporters who must have seen Alfira’s videos online. It wasn’t the massive turnout we’d hoped for, but it was a start.

Once we were all prepared, Darren and I stepped to the forefront of the group and Alfira positioned herself nearby, her camera poised. She was already live streaming everything. In fact, she had begun the moment we’d set foot outside the Lunar Labs HQ.

Darren squeezed my hand once before stepping forward to address the camera.

“My name is Darren Avarise,” he began. “Many of you know me not only as the CEO of Lunar Labs, but also as a werewolf. Last time you saw me, I was the leader of a small pack known as Moonglow. But now, I come to you as the Alpha King of all the werewolves—the chosen leader of our people, and the leader of our movement.”

For the next fifteen minutes, we took turns speaking about our vision. We told them about our wedding, about the humans who had found safety among werewolves, about children like Lucas who deserved a future without fear.

As we finished our speech, a smattering of applause rose from parts of the crowd. It wasn’t overwhelming support, but it was something. I felt a flicker of hope as we stepped away from the camera and prepared to begin our march through the city streets.

But that hope dimmed somewhat when I noticed a group gathering on the sidewalk ahead—people with angry faces and hastily made signs of their own.

HUMANS FIRST. PROTECT OUR CHILDREN. NO MONSTERS IN OUR CITY.

“Ignore them,” Darren murmured as we formed our front line. “Keep moving forward.”

I nodded, and we continued our march, the banners of our own movement held high. At first, things seemed to be going as planned. Our group moved as one through the streets, chanting our messages of peace and unity. A few bystanders even joined us as we passed, swelling our numbers slightly.

But as we turned onto the main avenue, the counter-protesters grew bolder. They followed alongside us, shouting slurs and insults.

“Go back to the forest where you belong!” one man yelled.

I kept my eyes forward, trying to project a calm I didn’t feel. Beside me, Darren was doing the same, although I could sense the tension in his body.

The first projectile—an empty soda can—arced through the air and bounced off a banner just behind us. Then came more: crumpled papers, food wrappers, even a few rocks.

“Stay calm,” I called back to our group. “Keep moving. Don’t engage.”

We pressed forward despite the growing hostility. I noticed Alfira still streaming everything, documenting both our peaceful march and the hateful response it was receiving. Good. Let the world see who the real aggressors were. It wasn’t us.

However, when we reached the intersection up ahead, I felt a chill run down my spine. Ahead of us, blocking our path, was a line of police officers in full riot gear—helmets, shields, and even batons at the ready.

“It’s okay,” Darren said loudly enough for everyone to hear. “I’ll speak to them. This is a peaceful march, and it’s not violating the law. We’re allowed to be here.”

He started forward, his eyes scanning the group of police for some kind of leader, but froze when one of the officers raised something in his hand. It wasn’t a weapon—at least not a conventional one. It was a small metal capsule.

My blood ran cold as I recognized it. The special gas. The chemical agent designed specifically to trigger aggression in werewolves.

We’d all taken the tincture that Dr. Edward had made, of course. But it was still a risk.

“Everyone stay back!” I shouted, but it was too late.

The officer threw the capsule, and it hit the pavement with a metallic clang before erupting in a cloud of white smoke. More capsules followed, thrown by other officers, quickly filling the air around us.

Panic erupted instantly. Humans in our group began coughing, confused about what was happening. Werewolves, recognizing the danger, tried to back away, but we were closed in by the crowd behind us. Darren’s hand found mine, his fingers tight.

“Cover your mouths and noses!” Darren called out, pulling his shirt up over his face. “Don’t breathe it in if you can! The tincture won’t completely protect us from this much gas!”

But the gas was everywhere now, a thick white cloud engulfing us. I could feel my eyes watering, my throat burning. My wolf began to roil with discomfort inside of me, a prickle of something deep and primal burning on my skin. All around us, people were shouting, pushing, trying to escape.

I clutched Darren’s hand tighter, trying to keep us together as the crowd surged and swelled around us. Through the haze, I could see werewolves beginning to change—not fully shifting, but their eyes glowing, teeth elongating as the gas triggered their wolves.

“Stay with me,” Darren gasped beside me, his eyes already flaring a bright, dangerous mismatch. He was fighting it, struggling to maintain control. So was I. Inside of me, I could hear my wolf growling, her inner voice telling me to shift, to run, to rip, to shred.

But the panic was spreading like wildfire. Someone slammed into my shoulder, nearly knocking me off my feet. I stumbled, my grip on Darren’s hand weakening as the crowd pushed between us.

“Darren!” I called out, trying to see him through the thick white air and the press of bodies.

Our fingers were still touching, barely holding on to each other, when another surge of the panicked crowd hit us like a wave. I felt his fingertips sliding from mine, desperately reaching to hold on.

And then he was gone, my hand grasping nothing but the white fog in the air.