The sun dipped low behind the misty hills of Lagooncrest Isle, casting long shadows over the gnarled trees and uneven forest floor. A cool wind stirred through the leaves, whispering like forgotten voices. Brendon Wolf tightened the strap of his shoulder bag and pushed through the undergrowth, one hand gripping his phone while the other brushed branches aside.
The screen flashed again—still no signal.
"Damn it," he muttered, glancing at the bars. Just one, flickering like a dying candle. The moment he crossed into this part of the forest, the connection had started breaking. Now, deep into the wilderness, it had all but vanished.
He tried calling Zoe again, only to hear the static buzz of a failed attempt.
"Come on, pick up..." he murmured, pacing forward.
He hadn't stopped moving since Sofie sent him Zoe's last location. Something didn't sit right. A gut feeling—a detective's instinct honed by years of fieldwork—told him that Zoe wasn't just wandering the woods. She was following something. Or worse... being followed.
As he navigated through dense thickets, every step deeper brought a sense of eerie stillness. No birdsong, no rustling squirrels—only the sound of his own breath and footfalls.
Then he saw it.
A faint orange flicker danced between the trees. Firelight.
Brendon immediately crouched and slowed his pace. His eyes narrowed.
"A bonfire?" he whispered. "Here? In the middle of nowhere?"
No campsite lay nearby. No tents, backpacks, or signs of hikers. Just firelight... and movement.
He crept closer, staying low, using the thick tree trunks as cover. As he peered from behind a gnarled oak, his eyes widened.
A dozen figures clad in long, black cloaks surrounded the bonfire, moving rhythmically in a circle. Their hoods covered their faces, their hands were raised in unison. The sound of low, humming chants reverberated in the air, sending a chill up his spine.
Brendon's heart quickened.
He knew these weren't ordinary islanders. Something far more disturbing was at play.
Suddenly—crack.
A twig snapped behind him.
He turned like lightning, his instincts taking over. His irises glowed yellow, a beastly glint in his eyes. In a fluid motion, his fingers extended into claws, sharp and dangerous.
A gasp echoed from behind him.
Brendon froze, hand mid-air, claws aimed—
"Zoe?!"
Zoe stumbled back, startled by his sudden transformation. Her eyes widened in shock, staring at his glowing eyes and inhuman claws.
"Z-Zoe," Brendon said, voice lowered. He retracted his claws slowly, breathing heavily as the glow in his eyes faded. "Where the hell have you been? I've been trying to reach you for hours!"
She stepped back, looking around nervously. "Shhh. Keep your voice down."
But it was too late.
A break in the chanting came from the circle ahead. Heads turned. One of the cloaked figures pointed toward the forest.
"There!" a raspy voice barked. "They've seen us. Capture them!"
Brendon swore under his breath. "Great."
The cultists broke formation, several of them sprinting toward the woods.
"Run!" Zoe shouted.
Together, they turned and bolted through the underbrush. Roots and fallen branches clawed at their legs, the distant sound of pursuit growing louder behind them. Brendon darted ahead, his speed outpacing Zoe's naturally, but he slowed just enough to stay near her.
"We won't outrun them like this," he said between breaths. "Zoe, we need to split up."
"What?" she gasped. "No! That's crazy—"
"It's the only way," Brendon said firmly, grabbing her arm and pulling her to a stop behind a moss-covered boulder. "I'm faster. I can lead them away. You—listen carefully—you need to go straight to the police station. Ask for Liam Mayers. He's the only one I trust there."
Zoe hesitated, fear evident in her eyes. "But—"
"No buts. You want to save Carlos, right?"
She stiffened.
"Then do this. You have to survive."
After a tense moment, Zoe nodded.
Brendon gave her one last look. "Go."
He turned and burst out from behind the boulder, crashing through the brush loudly, drawing attention.
"There! That one!" a cultist shouted.
The footsteps changed direction. The pursuit was his now.
Zoe crouched low, slipping away in the opposite direction, heart pounding.
Brendon moved like a phantom through the trees, swift and silent, every muscle coiled with instinct. The forest seemed to warp around him as he pushed deeper, the air growing colder, heavier, like it didn't want him there. Shadows clung to the undergrowth, and the pale moonlight did little to cut through the thick canopy above.
His breath came in low, controlled bursts. His feet barely made contact with the damp earth, skimming over roots and rocks as if gravity had loosened its grip on him. The unnatural speed—the beast within—was surging forward, guiding his body beyond sentient limits.
Behind him, voices echoed, muffled but relentless.
"They went this way!"
"Don't let him escape!"
Five... maybe six of them. Heavy boots, thrashing cloaks, the clatter of something metallic—chains? Weapons?
Brendon didn't look back. He didn't need to. Their presence prickled at the edge of his senses like static on the skin. He could smell the sharp bite of their sweat, the iron hint of blood in the air. They were close. Too close.
"You picked the wrong island to mess with," he hissed under his breath, his voice low and laced with something wild—something no longer entirely sentient.
His eyes burned amber as the wolf stirred within.
He veered eastward, past a thicket of thorned brambles and down a narrow, half-hidden path that sloped toward the cliffs of the eastern gorge. Trees thinned here. The wind howled more freely, tugging at his clothes as if warning him to turn back.
But he didn't.
He couldn't.
The plan was simple: draw them away, lead them toward unfamiliar terrain where the cliffs dropped sharply into darkness. If he could get them far enough from Zoe, she'd have time. Time to reach the police. Time to bring help.
Time to survive.
But even as his legs carried him faster, his thoughts refused to keep pace.
The bonfire blazed in his memory—too vivid to forget. Black cloaks moving in eerie synchrony, their chants vibrating with dark purpose. That wasn't just ritual. It was devotion. Obsession. And it reeked of something deeper than theatrics.
A cult. A real one.
Organized. Intentional. Dangerous.
He'd seen enough during his years as a detective to spot the difference between fanatics and pretenders. These weren't deluded loners playing dress-up in the woods. They were structured. They had hierarchy. They had purpose.
And they were hiding something.
Or someone.
Carlos.
The thought of him surged like a jolt of electricity down Brendon's spine.
Was he still alive? Had they taken him, too? Was he being held somewhere—underground, restrained, forced into silence like so many other names lost in dusty files and cold leads?
And then there was Zoe.
Why her?
Why now?
She had gone missing for hours. Did they capture her? Or had she willingly walked into their midst—seeking answers of her own?
He didn't know. But the way she'd looked at him back there—fear, confusion, sorrow all at once—told him there was more going on than she'd said.
Brendon vaulted over a fallen log, landing in a crouch before bursting forward again. His claws had retracted, but he could still feel the thrum of his power beneath his skin, pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat. The wolf wanted out. It always did when the hunt began.
The path twisted suddenly, dropping into a steep descent lined with jagged rocks and loose soil. He skidded down it, bracing himself with outstretched hands, and landed at the edge of a wide ravine. Below, the cliffs opened into black nothingness.
Perfect.
He pivoted sharply and dashed into the thickest part of the forest lining the ridge, letting the wind carry the sound of his footsteps in multiple directions.
The cultists would scatter trying to follow.
That bought time.
But still... his mind refused to let go of what he'd seen. The missing persons, the whispers of Duckinghum Caves, the strange stories buried in local lore. It was all connected. Every case they'd failed to solve. Every person who vanished without a trace. Natasha. Carlos. Maybe more.
The island was rotting from the inside, and no one was paying attention.
Until now.
He skidded to a halt behind a cluster of rocks, crouching low, listening.
The footsteps had spread out—some farther back, some trying to flank him. He'd lost most of them. Not all.
Good.
He needed them to chase. To believe they were close.
Because the deeper they followed, the less they'd know the terrain—and the closer Brendon would be to taking control of this hunt.
And yet, even as he crouched there, pulse steady and eyes scanning, he felt something else. A presence. Not from the cultists. Something older. Watching from between the trees. Like the woods themselves were listening.
Like the island was awake.
He exhaled slowly, forcing the thought down.
Right now, he had to focus. Survive the night. Lead them far. Let Zoe reach Liam.
Then, maybe, the real fight could begin.
But deep inside, Brendon knew: they hadn't just stumbled into a case.
They had stepped into a war.
And the island wasn't going to let them go easily.