Senti's POV
The nights in Vale were longer now.
The air carried the sound of engines and distant sirens, Atlas patrols cutting through the fog like silent warnings. The humans slept behind their steel gates; the Faunus learned to move between the cracks.
That's where I lived — between the cracks.
It wasn't about revenge anymore. It was about maintenance.
Cleaning up the pieces before they cut someone else.
The White Fang didn't die when Blake left it. It grew teeth. Sharper ones.
I tracked their movement through the old industrial quarter — a maze of abandoned freight tunnels that ran under the southern rail.
Someone was smuggling Dust again, same Fang markings, same lies.
The tunnels smelled of oil, ozone, and wet stone. My boots left no sound, the pads of my feet soft against the grit. My tail shifted to counterbalance, and my breath stayed steady.
I could hear voices before I saw them. Two guards, one look-out. The third's rifle scraped against the crate he leaned on — careless.
They weren't soldiers. Just kids playing at it.
"Boss says we move the goods before sunrise," one said.
The other laughed. "Boss says a lot of things. You seen that freak they're hunting? The Wolf?"
The first one snorted. "Yeah. Some Faunus psycho cutting up our boys. Bet it's just Atlas propaganda."
I stepped from the shadow before he could finish the sentence.
He froze, halfway through a laugh.
I didn't say anything. Didn't have to.
His finger twitched on the trigger — instinct, not courage.
The shot cracked through the tunnel. The bullet passed through my coat, grazing my shoulder.
Pain. Sharp, immediate. Real.
And something inside me shifted — that small, metallic hum that always came when the Echo stirred.
You warned them, Logic whispered.
Now teach them. Cruelty's voice purred.
I moved.
The fight lasted seconds. A twist, a disarm, the sound of steel against stone.
No blood yet. No killing. Just control.
When it ended, one of them was unconscious, one was limping, the other staring at me with wide, terrified eyes.
He dropped his rifle and ran.
I let him.
Not mercy. Just… exhaustion.
I sat down on the edge of a crate, pressing a hand over the cut on my shoulder. The blood was dark against my glove.
I stared at it longer than I should have.
Cruelty whispered again. They'll just come back. They always do.
Joy giggled faintly. But you were so gentle this time.
Charm murmured, She'd be proud of you for holding back.
Logic cut through them all. Holding back doesn't fix anything.
I closed my eyes and tried to breathe.
It wasn't about fixing things anymore. It was about balance — the thin line between being useful and becoming something else.
By morning, I'd followed the trail back to the surface. The Fang's drop point was hidden behind a shuttered Dust processing plant — the kind that used to employ Faunus before Atlas automated everything.
Inside, old machinery loomed like skeletons. The floor was coated in gray dust and broken glass.
I crouched beside a console, tracing the faint boot prints in the grime. Fresh. Four sets, moving deeper inside.
They'd moved their operation here recently. Desperation made people sloppy.
I followed.
The air changed near the center — colder, metallic. The kind of cold that comes from Dust leakage.
I found them around a crate, arguing quietly.
"This batch's unstable," one said. "If Atlas sniffs this out—"
"Shut up. We move it tonight."
I stepped into the light before they could draw.
"Don't," I said.
They turned, startled — a blur of motion, weapons rising.
I didn't move.
"Walk away," I said softly. "No one needs to die tonight."
One of them laughed. "You think we're scared of you?"
Another muttered, "You should be."
The leader barked, "Kill her!"
The first blast came from the side — an unrefined Dust shot. It hit the nearest machine, igniting a burst of static light.
The shockwave knocked one of them back, screaming as his arm caught fire.
The others opened fire.
I didn't think.
The world narrowed to pulse and rhythm — the hum of my blades cutting air, the impact of metal on bone.
A knee shattered. A rifle cracked.
The fight ended the way it started — fast, silent, inevitable.
When the smoke cleared, two lay unconscious, one burned, and one… not moving.
I stared at him for a long time. His eyes were still open, glassy. No breath.
My claws trembled. The blood on them wasn't mine this time.
The Echo went quiet.
I sank to my knees beside the body. My breath shook, but no sound came out.
You warned them, Cruelty whispered, almost gently.
You didn't mean to, Charm said.
Logic said nothing.
I wanted to feel guilt. I expected it.
Instead, all I felt was… relief.
It scared me more than anything else ever had.
The sunrise bled through the broken windows, casting long shadows across the factory floor.
The blood on the tiles looked black under the light.
I stood, hands shaking, and wiped the claws clean — not because I cared about the mess, but because I couldn't stand to see the reflection anymore.
The Wolf's work was done.
But the echoes hadn't stopped.