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Chapter 120: Watch
After School.
The forest pulsed with life, but not the peaceful kind that came with wind in the leaves or birdsong overhead. This was a different rhythm—fast, sharp, violent. Twigs cracked under hurried feet. Breaths came in short, ragged bursts. The sound of fists hitting flesh rang out through the trees like drumbeats of a storm.
Isaac grunted, lifted a hand to his mouth, and wiped away the smear of blood from his lip. His jaw throbbed, but the pain only fueled him. With a low growl vibrating in his throat, Isaac charged forward again, unrelenting.
"Keep your stance low," Malia barked, her voice cutting clean through the sounds of the fight. She ducked his wild swing effortlessly and used his momentum against him, twisting and slamming him into the forest floor with one clean shove. "You keep leaving yourself wide open."
Face pressed to the earth, Isaac let out a frustrated groan. Leaves clung to his hair as he pushed himself up again, brushing dirt from his arms. He exhaled hard and looked at her through narrowed eyes. "Easy for you to say," he muttered. "You've had years to figure this out. I've had—what? A few weeks?"
She cocked her head, something like a smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Then learn faster."
There was a challenge in her voice, but something else too—expectation. Maybe even belief. The words stung, but they stayed with him, sinking in like roots.
Neither of them had any idea they were being watched.
Concealed behind thick brush and shadow a hundred yards away, two figures crouched low to the ground, their presence masked by experience and intention. Both moved with the quiet certainty of trained predators. One of them raised a pair of high-powered binoculars to his eyes, tracking every move between the sparring pair with clinical focus. The other had his phone out already, thumb hovering for a beat before tapping a contact.
The call connected on the first ring.
"Chris—it's confirmed," the man said quietly, barely above a whisper. "Isaac Lahey is definitely a wolf. The other one—Lucas—we're still digging into. Could go either way, but the odds are high he's one too."
The voice on the other end was still for a long breath. When Chris Argent finally spoke, it was measured and cold. "Stay on Isaac. Watch him. When the opportunity comes, take him alive. I have questions for the boy."
"Yes, sir." The hunter ended the call with a tap, lowering the phone but keeping his eyes fixed through the trees. Watching.
Waiting.
Hours passed. The sun sank below the horizon, dragging the day with it. Darkness crept in to fill the silence, thickening in corners and under eaves like something alive.
Inside the Lahey house, Isaac sat alone, the stillness pressing down around him. The walls, though familiar, felt like they were inching closer. The quiet wasn't comforting. It was heavy. Suffocating. He shifted in his seat, his body still aching from the afternoon's training, but that wasn't what had him uneasy.
Something was off.
His skin prickled with a sense that had nothing to do with nerves and everything to do with instinct—wolf-sense. The kind that whispered warnings before the mind had a chance to catch up.
Slowly, Isaac rose and moved toward the door. He stepped out onto the porch, his bare feet brushing against the cool boards as he scanned the yard with golden-hued eyes, alert and searching.
Everything looked still.
But the quiet was wrong.
The trees beyond the fence were darker than they should've been, the shadows deeper. And then—something moved.
A flicker of air. A sharp whisper through the silence.
Instinct kicked in hard. Isaac's hand shot out, fast as lightning, fingers closing around something small and cold.
A dart.
He stared at it for half a second before his pulse spiked. His claws extended with a metallic sound, slicing from his fingertips as his eyes blazed bright gold. The low growl that built in his chest was no longer frustration—it was the sound of a predator ready for war.
From the edge of the treeline, two figures burst forward like unleashed hounds. Hunters. Armed. Trained.
Isaac moved.
He collided with the first one head-on, his momentum driving them both across the lawn. His claws slashed, sparks flying as they scraped against the hunter's metal weapon. The second attacker was already there, striking fast, forcing Isaac to spin and duck as a baton narrowly missed his skull.
It was chaos—fast, brutal, unrelenting.
But Isaac fought like his life depended on it. Because it did.
He moved with speed and power, his strikes fierce and furious. A well-aimed kick sent one of the hunters sprawling, skidding across the grass with a grunt. But the other didn't give him space to breathe. He pressed in, relentless, every movement designed not to kill—but to wear Isaac down.
They were coordinated. Trained for this. One feinted, the other struck. Isaac tore through them with desperation, but they moved as a unit—one took his attention, the other attacked the opening. It was like fighting shadows that never tired.
Minutes dragged like hours. Sweat streamed into Isaac's eyes, mixing with blood from a cut on his brow. His breath came ragged, his strength flagging. Pain screamed through his side as a baton landed hard against his ribs, sending him flying into the porch railing. Wood cracked beneath his weight.
He tried to push himself up, vision swimming.
A heavy boot slammed into his chest, pinning him.
His limbs strained, his body howling in protest, but he couldn't move. He saw the hunter raise his weapon, metal glinting in the porch light.
The blow to the side of his head was the last thing he felt.
But just before the dark took him, Isaac's eyes flicked to the tree line.
There—half-hidden in the shadows, the mysterious figure stood, watching silently.
Watching him fall.
And then everything went black.