The air in Moonstone City Hall was thick with panic, anger, and confusion. Hundreds of voices rose at once, crashing against the marble walls like waves against a cliff. People stood in the aisles, shouting questions, demanding answers. Some clutched photographs of loved ones lost or missing, others waved their arms with outrage. A nervous energy filled the room, brittle and combustible, waiting for a spark.
At the podium stood Mayor Fletcher, a two-term politician with thinning silver hair and deep shadows under his eyes. He rapped the gavel against the wood, his voice straining to rise above the din.
"Please, everyone, order! I know you are all angry. I know last night was unlike anything this city has ever faced. And I know… that many of you believe we failed."
The words only stirred more jeers and shouts. The mayor raised a hand, his voice steady but worn thin.
"But hear me out, if it hadn't been for our officers, for the brave men and women of the Moonstone Police Department, there would have been far more casualties. We were not prepared for a threat of this scale, but we did the best we could with the resources we had."
His words were met with skepticism, some muttered curses, others outright scoffs. People weren't in the mood for excuses. They wanted answers, assurances. The mayor's eyes shifted toward someone seated just beyond the podium. He cleared his throat, and his tone suddenly sharpened.
"However… while we were caught off guard, someone was not. And without his foresight, many more lives would have been lost. I speak, of course, of Alexander Farren."
At that name, the mood in the hall shifted. Applause broke out, hesitant at first, then swelling into cheers. Some even stood, clapping with relief, with admiration. The mayor extended a hand toward the rising figure.
Alexander Farren approached the podium with deliberate grace, every step measured, his tailored suit crisp and flawless. When he reached the microphone, the hall roared again, flashes from cameras glinting like sparks in a storm.
"Thank you," Farren said simply, his voice calm, steady, magnetic. "Thank you… for believing in me."
The applause lingered, then fell into silence as his eyes swept the hall. He carried himself not as a candidate, not even as a man, but as someone inevitable.
"When I first campaigned," he began, his words deliberate and clear, "I said I would prepare this city for any threat. Not just economic downturns, not just crime or corruption, but supernatural threats as well. Many of you thought it was unnecessary. Some even thought it was dangerous. After all, we live in an age of peace. Humans, vampires, werewolves, warlocks... we coexist. For the first time in centuries, the world breathes without the smoke of constant war."
Heads nodded in the audience. He let the moment settle before continuing, his tone sharpening with conviction.
"But peace is fragile. And though we share a goal, we are not the same. Our abilities are vastly different. Preparation… is not intimidation. It is not a threat. It is justice. To ensure that the rope of the law extends to all of us, regardless of strength or ability."
A murmur of agreement swept through the crowd. His words were resonant, unavoidable.
"I stand before you not to frighten you, but to assure you that this city will never be helpless again. That even if the enemy has claws, fangs, or sorcery… Moonstone will have the means to fight back. That is my promise. And whether or not you choose me in the coming election, I will continue to serve this city. Because I love it. Because I love you."
The hall erupted. Applause thundered, people rose to their feet, some even wiping tears. Farren raised his hand, humbly, letting the ovation wash over him.
Mayor Fletcher leaned into the microphone, his voice heavy with finality. "Ladies and gentlemen, I say this not as your mayor, but as a citizen of Moonstone, Alexander Farren has proven himself worthy of your trust. Of your vote. Of our future."
The scene held on the roaring crowd, the glowing cameras, the swell of emotion, before the perspective shifted.
The television screen went dark for a moment before the image returned, filling the large, mounted set above the fireplace in the Thorne family study.
The fire crackled low in the hearth. Shadows danced against the velvet curtains, the heavy oak furniture. Seated in an armchair was Elizabeth Thorne, her posture refined but tense, a glass of red wine untouched at her side.
Across from her, Austin leaned back uneasily in a leather chair, his body still stiff, his face pale from the bruises of the night before. He looked worn, but alive.
And pacing near the balcony window was Sebastian Thorne. His movements were restless, angry, his jaw tight as he glanced again and again toward the live broadcast.
A soft knock at the door interrupted the moment. A servant stepped inside with careful poise, carrying a glass of whiskey neat. Without a word, he approached Sebastian, offered the drink, and retreated.
Sebastian downed it in one breath, grimacing before setting the glass down with a sharp clink. His voice was gravelly when he finally spoke.
"Austin," he said, eyes narrowing, "did you notice anything strange about last night's attack?"
Austin blinked, caught off guard. "Strange? I mean… it was a massacre. What else is there to notice?"
Elizabeth cleared her throat softly, her tone calm but edged with calculation. "What my husband means, Austin, is that we believe last night's events may not have been what they seemed."
Sebastian's glare hardened. "We think Alexander Farren staged it."
Austin's eyes widened. "What?"
Elizabeth leaned forward, folding her hands. "Look at the results. His polls are soaring. Public opinion has shifted almost overnight. And Farren, he was the only one prepared, the only one with the resources at the right time."
Sebastian snatched the remote and clicked. Numbers appeared across the screen; graphs, polls, statistics, all showing Farren's approval skyrocketing.
"He's making me look like a damn fool," Sebastian muttered, his fist tightening around the remote. "And the DA right along with me." He cursed under his breath, his face dark with fury.
Austin rubbed his temples, struggling to piece it together. The idea that anyone could orchestrate something so devastating for political gain sickened him.
"You… you can't actually prove this," Austin said, his voice shaking. "Can you?"
Elizabeth's eyes glimmered. She reached into a folder on the table, slid a file across toward him, and opened it.
"Where did you first encounter the dhampyrs?" she asked quietly.
Austin hesitated. "…North. Just south of Lake Superior."
Elizabeth nodded. "Exactly. And wouldn't you know, Farren has a secret base not far from there. A research site. Officially it doesn't exist, but we've had eyes on it for months. You see, Austin… coincidences pile up until they stop looking like coincidences."
Austin froze, staring down at the open file, then up at the broadcast again, Farren's face, smiling, humble, adored by the masses. He's throat felt dry as Elizabeth's words sank in. He leaned forward, his voice tight, almost pleading.
"So what, you want me to sabotage Alex? To what? Invent a crime?"
Elizabeth tilted her glass of deep red wine, watching it swirl before she spoke. Her voice was calm, smooth, like silk wrapped around a knife.
"It isn't sabotage if it's true, Austin. All you need to do is find proof. The rest will take care of itself."
He clenched his jaw. "Proof? You make it sound simple. I wasn't even supposed to know this base exists, how the hell am I supposed to get access to something that high-level? That's above my clearance, above my role. Above everything."
For the first time, Elizabeth quieted. She leaned back in her velvet chair, methodical and deliberate, sipping her wine with the elegance of someone who never rushed. The silence cut sharper than her words. Then she cleared her throat lightly and said:
"How is Adam?"
Austin's eyes narrowed at once. His voice turned cold.
"Don't bring my son into this."
Her smile curved faintly, without warmth.
"He was in this from the very beginning, Austin. Don't pretend otherwise."
The words hit him like stone dropping into a deep well. He sat frozen as she continued, her voice lowering to a conspiratorial tone.
"Last night… during the attack at the Academy… your son was injured."
Austin lurched forward, his fists tightening, his heartbeat hammering in his ears.
Elizabeth raised her hand quickly, almost soothing.
"He's fine. A hurt ankle at most. He'll be limping for a while, but that's all. He's alive. But think about what that means."
Austin's face darkened. He felt fire under his skin, the protective rage only a father could know. Elizabeth's eyes lit up with the reaction she wanted.
"The Academy was protected by my men," she said. "If I'd sent hunters, perhaps they would've managed better. But I sent regular soldiers. Expendable, ordinary men. Many of them died off record. But Adam survived. And that survival was no accident."
Her voice sharpened like steel, her gaze piercing through him.
"Imagine if he hadn't been at Moonstone Academy. Do you really believe he would have survived yesterday? Farren put your son in danger, and you're going to let that stand?"
Austin's hands shook on the armrests of his chair. Words clawed at his throat, but none came.
Elizabeth leaned in, lowering her voice to a near whisper.
"Your son attends the most prestigious school in the Mid-States, under my watch. He owes that safety… to me. To us."
Austin's silence was answer enough.
Sebastian finally spoke, his voice a low rumble that silenced the room.
"Let's be clear, Austin." His sharp eyes glimmered in the dim light. "I will do whatever it takes to get what I want. You are my weapon now. And I will wield you however I see fit. Understand this, tools don't choose how they're used."
Elizabeth broke the heaviness with a soft laugh, her lips curling into a smile. "Don't be so grim, Sebastian. Our friend only needs encouragement." She turned back to Austin, her tone gentler, even coaxing. "Your son will be well cared for, Austin. I promise you that. He won't come to harm so long as you stick to the deal."
Austin swallowed hard, staring at her with a mixture of resentment and defeat. He nodded once, slowly. "I'll find a way in."
"That's all I ask." Elizabeth's smile widened, serene and victorious. "Good. Very good."
Austin rose from his chair, his chest heavy, and left the mansion. Out in the cool night air, he unlocked his car with trembling hands. His thoughts swarmed with Elizabeth's words, with Adam's face. He pulled out his phone and typed a quick message:
'You okay? Heard what happened. Please tell me you're fine.'
His thumb hovered over the screen as his pulse raced.
Back inside the mansion, Elizabeth set her wine glass down with a delicate clink. She leaned back, satisfied.
"Austin is a useful tool when wielded right. But you and I both know—" her smile turned faintly cruel, "—no tool is permanent."
Sebastian's mind was elsewhere. He had barely heard her. His jaw was tight, his breaths shallow. He stood abruptly, straightening his black suit. "I need air."
He stepped out into the night, the cool wind brushing against his face. His anger still boiled from the meeting, but it was then that his phone buzzed.
He pulled it out, irritation flashing across his face, until he saw the message. No name. Just an anonymous number.
'Your drink today morning was laced with a toxin. Name: Hemoclast-13. Designed to kill you in three days. Symptoms will begin tomorrow.
In your anger, you didn't even notice. The whiskey's scent was off. The servant who brought it was not your servant at all.
Werewolf or not—Alpha or not—your healing will not save you this time. Comply with the instructions that will follow, or die.'
Sebastian froze, his fingers tightening on the phone until the screen almost cracked. His eyes darted to the glass of whiskey he had left behind in the study. His lips curled back in a snarl.
"Impossible."
But then, he felt it. The faintest ripple of dizziness.
A servant passed by in the corridor. Without thought, Sebastian seized him by the throat, hoisting him into the air with one massive hand. The man gasped, choking, kicking his legs helplessly.
"Explain!" Sebastian's voice thundered like a storm. "How could an imposter infiltrate my house? Poison me, under your noses?"
The servant's terrified eyes widened. He shook his head frantically. "M-My lord—I don't know—I swear—"
Sebastian's grip tightened, his fury boiling over. Bones cracked under his fingers. With a violent twist, the man's neck snapped. His body dropped to the ground like discarded waste.
Guards rushed forward, dragging the corpse away without question.
Sebastian stood trembling, not with fear, but with wrath. He ran his fingers through his hair, straightening it back into place, and adjusted his suit with controlled precision. But his breathing was uneven. His chest felt heavier now. His vision blurred at the edges.
He muttered to himself in a low, venomous growl.
"This poison… whoever you are… I'll find you. And I'll make you suffer."
He slid his phone back into his pocket and strode off into the shadows, the dizziness clawing deeper at him with every step.
The morning swallowed him whole.