Sarah's eyes swept the room.
She moved with quiet purpose, crouching down and reaching beneath the bed.
Her fingers brushed past dust… then cold steel.
She pulled out a small lockbox—old, dented, and sealed tight.
With a steady breath, she set it on the floor.
She broke the lock with her bare hands, quick, clean and effortless.
"This isn't mine," she muttered, a frown tugging at her brow.
Inside were no clothes. No money. Nothing familiar.
Just an old photograph of The Alpha.
A weathered, torn journal.
And a silver dagger humming with energy that prickled her skin.
Her heart skipped.
What the hell is this?
She picked up the photo, eyes locking with the Alpha's—only younger.
Cold. Arrogant. Alive with untamed power.
Then her fingers moved toward the dagger.
The moment she brushed the hilt, a jolt of energy shot up her arm like lightning.
She flinched, yanking her hand back instinctively.
Finally, she reached for the journal.
Its pages were brittle, ink faded with time… but there was no name. Nothing on the cover. Just silence.
Curious, she set it aside and picked up the box again.
As she turned it over, faint lettering caught the light—engraved into the metal base:
Property of Catherine Blackwell.
Jake's mother.
And a secret buried in plain sight.
She set the box aside, eyes lingering on the bottom where the name burned in her thoughts: Catherine Blackwell.
Jake's mom… could she be Cat? The wolf hunter?
The question clawed at her as she moved quickly, dragging out her own lockbox from under the bed.
Same size. Same shape.
But hers was familiar—hers was filled with weapons she knew she packed.
She popped it open.
Inside lay only a few things, but each one heavy with meaning.
A short blade — ancient, silver-forged, its edge still sharp. A weapon crafted for one purpose: to cut down werewolves.
A cloak — worn-looking, but the moment her fingers brushed it, she felt its magic stir. A relic of stealth and protection, woven from threads no longer found in the living world.
A ring — small, unassuming, but unmistakable. The key—the only way—to gain access to the gates of the Claw's Heart.
And a picture — faded with time. A younger Sarah stood beside Hunter and Huntress, with a baby in her arms… Scar. Behind them, other pack members—some lost to battle, others with faces she couldn't quite name.
Sarah stared at the photo, her breath caught in her throat.
Jake tossed under his sheets, brow furrowed.
Sleep held him tight—but his mind wouldn't rest.
In the dream, he stood in a forest.
Dark. Hollow. Endless.
A voice echoed through the trees, soft and distant.
"Jake…"
He turned.
The sky above bled red.
He ran toward the voice—branches clawing at his skin—until he reached the edge of a cliff.
There, he stopped.
Above him… no moon.
Only a massive, disembodied wolf's head, suspended in the sky.
It's red eyes burned like dying stars.
It didn't growl.
It didn't move.
It just watched.
Then it spoke—not aloud, but inside his head.
The voice was broken, layered, distorted.
"Wake up, Jake…"
The air shattered around him like glass.
Jake collapsed to his knees, clutching his head.
"Ahh, stop it!" he cried out, but the distortion didn't cease.
Then, with a gasp, he jolted awake.
"Fuck… what was that about?" he whispered, still catching his breath.
He rubbed his temples, sweat clinging to his brow.
"Dumb wolf," he muttered, swinging his legs off the bed.
But the image lingered.
Those eyes. That voice.
He opened his door, stepping out into the hallway—only to find Sarah waiting, a little too conveniently.
"Jake," she said, stopping him. Her posture stiff, one hand tucked behind her back like she was hiding something.
"What did your mom do for a living?"
Jake blinked, caught off guard.
"I don't know, man. She didn't really do anything." He started to walk past her, then paused.
"But… I think Dad mentioned something once. Said she used to be a hunter or something like that."
A hunter?
The words echoed in Sarah's mind, sending a chill up her spine.
She didn't answer—just watched him go.
Jake yawned, stretching his arms. "I'll go grab some grub now," he muttered, already halfway down the hall.
Sarah stood frozen, her hand still behind her back—fingers clenched tightly around the picture of The Alpha.
She glanced down at it once more.
You really were hiding everything from them, weren't you, Catherine?
I can't get sidetracked now. I've got a task at hand.
With that, she turned and walked back to her room.