The Chronicles of Lycanthorin

a worn blanket. The neon sign buzzed faintly outside, casting a weak glow through the window. She'd stayed late again

g curses. Nothing but black. The air pressed heavier, her pulse kicking up like a drum. She shook it off-imagination, that's all-and turned the corner. Three men stepped from the shadows, dressed in black, moving with eerie grace. Their eyes glowed sickly yellow under the streetlights, predatory and wrong. Terror bolted through her, sharp as a blade. "Miss Nightborne," one purred, voice silk over steel, stepping forward. "We've been looking for you." She didn't wait. She ran. Her heart slammed against her ribs as she tore through the alleys, legs pumping faster than they had any right to. She leaped a fence in one bound, landed hard, and kept going-trash cans clattering, her breath ragged in her throat. She'd always been quick-cuts healed in hours, bruises faded like smoke-but this was survival. They were close-too close-footsteps a whisper behind, unnatural and relentless. Not human. Not possible. Pain seared her shoulder, claws slicing deep. She cried out, stumbling forward, blood splattering the pavement. The air shifted-thick, wild, like a storm breaking open. The men faltered, one inhaling sharply, yellow eyes widening. "She doesn't know," he murmured, almost awed. Know what?! Zariah pushed on, pain burning but her legs steady. Blood dripped, warm down her arm, yet the wound already felt less raw-stitching itself, like always. She rounded a corner, chest heaving, alley walls blurring, when a hand grabbed her wrist. She twisted, fist cocked, ready to swing-but it was Miriam's wrinkled face staring back, eyes wide with urgency. "Come with me," the old woman whispered, grip iron despite her age. "Now." Miriam hauled her through a hidden back door into Timeless Relics, the creak of the floorboards a lifeline as Zariah's hands shook. She'd grown up here-sorting relics, learning their stories-after that day nine years ago when Miriam found her, lost and scratched on the outskirts, the pendant her only tie to a past she couldn't grasp. The police had searched-missing posters, dead-end c