PACK OF THE FORGOTTEN

As the sun sank beneath the horizon, the city was alive with possibility. Fluorescent lights came alive, filling the streets with blues, reds, and greens. Cars honked, music played from open windows, and street vendors shouted their deals at passersby. To most, this chaos came alive—vibrantly, even—but beneath the surface, secrets pulsed. The pack, concealed from the dazzling city lights, lived in the shadowy alleys and forgotten corners.

Lena leaned over the ledge of the rooftop, peering down into the labyrinth of streets below. She held on to the strap of her well-worn leather satchel, its contents far too precious to lose. The wind pulled at her lo ose brown hair, dragging with it the distant scent of fried food and gasoline. She was hyper-aware, every sound and every movement in her peripheral. Predators prowled this city, but none as deadly as the hunters.

Her pack, the Forgotten, were the last of their kind or, at least, the last they had heard of. The cities thought werewolves had died with the legends, nothing but old stories, fallen, extinct. But Lena knew the truth. They were real, and they were being hunted. It was a game of survival every night, and one misstep meant death.

The pack waited inside the crumbling apartment building behind her. They didn’t have much: some rooms with mattresses on the floor, food they had stolen, one working sink. Not a home, but their only home. They all had a story: orphans who had seen their families killed, outcasts spurned by society, fugitives running from silver bullets. They were not tied by blood, but they were tied by something stronger—the will to survive.

A gentle noise came from behind, startling Lena. She turned, her hand flying to the knife at her thigh.

“It’s only me,” Alec said, emerging into the moonlight. His long, lanky frame appeared overstuffed in the narrow rooftop exit. His calculating and sharp green eyes were trained on her. “You’re tense tonight.”

“I’m always tense,” Lena said, her voice low. “You should be too.”

Alec folded his arms, playfully leaning against the door frame. “The others want to know if we will have enough to eat tomorrow. Supplies are low. Again.”

Lena’s jaw tightened. She resented their constant financial distress, them foraging for food while glancing behind them. She hated that they couldn’t walk freely, like the humans below, who laughed and danced without fear. But most of all, she hated that she did not know why their kind had been hunted nearly to extinction.

“We’ll manage,” she said, her tone resolute. “We always do.”

Alec hesitated, then nodded. But Lena could read doubt in his eyes. He didn’t trust her, not completely.

He turned to leave, and Lena looked back at the city. Out there, in this sprawling maze of concrete and steel, she knew answers were waiting for her somewhere. She didn’t know how or where, but she knew it—like the muffled bounce of something distant in her blood.

Her fingers tickled the edge of the satchel, where a faded map lay. The map that fingered something ancient, something powerful. Something that might finally say to them who they were and why they had been hunted.

But with answers came danger. If the hunters found what she was seeking, they wouldn’t stop with the pack. They’d set fire to the whole city to kill them all.

Above the city, the moon rode high in the sky, illuminating the streets with pale light. Time for hiding was running out.

And Lena was prepared to strike.

It came like a light whisper, almost unbearably soft, then the storm seemed to sweep over the city's underworld alive. First, Lena got the whisper from one street kid indebted to her for a favor. “They dug up something funny,” he whispered back, almost inaudibly. “Some kind of stone, shining under the moonlight. Workers refused to touch it; told them it gave them bad feelings."