“Step lighter, Rowan. You sound like a drunk cop in steel boots.”

Her father’s whisper was sharp enough to cut the night in half. Rowan rolled her eyes, not that he could see in the dark alley. The only light came from a broken streetlamp buzzing above them, casting a faint halo over wet asphalt.

“I’m wearing the exact same boots as you,” she whispered back. “Maybe the problem is your ears are getting old.”

“Hunters don’t make excuses,” he snapped. “Hunters adapt.”

Rowan bit her tongue, fingers brushing the hilt of the silver knife strapped against her thigh. The word hunter always landed heavy. He said it like it was a title, sacred and final, something to wear with pride. For her, it felt more like a chain.

Somewhere ahead, claws scraped against brick. A low sound, like a growl muffled by distance, curled down the alley.

Her father raised his fist the signal to stop. Rowan froze, chest tight. She had heard that sound before, but never this close.

He leaned toward her, breath hot against her ear. “This is it. You see it, you strike. Don’t hesitate. Do you understand?”

Rowan’s jaw clenched. “I understand.”

“No mercy.”

“I said I understand.”

Her father’s eyes flicked to her, dark and stern. He didn’t believe her, she could tell. He hadn’t believed her since the last time he put her through this test, and the time before that.

The sound came again, louder. Something scraped along metal a trash bin tipped, maybe.

Her father gave a nod, then melted back into the shadows, circling left. He always did that: vanish and force her to take point, make her prove herself. Rowan tightened her grip on the knife.

One step forward. Another.

The alley stank of rot and wet cardboard. Trash bags slumped against chain-link fences. Somewhere in the distance, a siren wailed, then faded. Rowan’s heartbeat was louder.

She saw movement. A shadow flinching behind a dumpster.

Her pulse spiked. She raised the knife.

“Come on,” she whispered to herself. “Don’t freeze this time.”

The shape shifted. A low whimper, then a shuffle of paws. Rowan braced herself, ready for yellow eyes, for the glint of fangs.

But when the figure stumbled into the light, it wasn’t a werewolf.

It was a dog. Thin ribs visible beneath matted fur, eyes wide and glassy. Its tail tucked low as it limped toward the trash bags, sniffing.

Rowan exhaled so hard she almost laughed. Relief, sharp and messy, rushed through her chest.

Then a hand clamped down on her shoulder.

Her father spun her around, fury etched into every line of his face. “You didn’t strike.”

“It’s a dog,” she hissed.

“Doesn’t matter. You hesitated.”

Rowan shook his hand off. “I’m not killing a stray just to prove I can swing a knife.”

His expression hardened. “You hesitate with a wolf, and you’re dead. Or worse, someone else is.”

“I made the right call.”

“The right call is doing what I tell you to do.”

For a moment, neither moved. The knife was still in her hand, her fingers white-knuckled on the hilt. The dog darted past them, disappearing into the night. Rowan’s chest ached with the urge to chase after it not to kill, just to get away from the weight of her father’s glare.

Finally, he turned away, muttering, “You’ll never be ready.”

Rowan stared after him, pulse still hammering. A bitter taste coated her tongue. She’d never be ready in his eyes, no matter what she did.

But the truth was, maybe she didn’t want to be.

Her father’s words still echoed as he stalked ahead, his coat cutting a black line against the alley’s glow. Rowan trailed after him, jaw tight, every step like grinding her teeth into the pavement.

You’ll never be ready.

She wanted to shout at him, tell him that she didn’t freeze she chose. But hunters didn’t debate choices; hunters followed orders.

At least, that’s what he wanted.

The night stretched on, heavy with the kind of silence that never stayed empty for long. The city around them was alive not with people, not in this forgotten stretch of brick and rust, but with small movements, sighs, whispers of things watching from corners.

Rowan adjusted her grip on the knife. Silver glinted faintly in the dim. Her veins hummed with it too as a reminder, always. A birthright she hadn’t asked for.

She heard it again.

A scrape. Too deliberate to be wind. Too heavy for a rat.

Her head snapped left. A narrow cut between buildings gaped like a throat.

Rowan glanced at her father. He hadn’t heard it or he was testing her again. He didn’t look back. He never looked back.

“Fine,” she muttered. “You want proof? I’ll give you proof.”

She slipped into the side alley, footsteps careful now. The air was damper here, pressing close with the stink of mildew and copper.

A silhouette moved at the far end.

Her breath caught. This wasn’t a dog. Too tall. Too fluid.

The figure crouched low, as if deciding whether to bolt or charge.

Rowan froze, knife ready. Her throat tightened around her father’s words. No hesitation.

“Hey,” she whispered, though she didn’t know why.

The figure shifted. Light caught on something pale, a flash of eyes. Not golden, like the stories said. Human. But there was something wrong with them. Something stretched too thin, like skin pulled over something hungrier underneath.

Rowan’s chest burned. Every nerve screamed at her to throw the knife. End it.

Instead, her arm trembled.

The figure bolted.

Rowan swore and lunged after it. Her boots slapped wet pavement, knife clenched, breath tearing in her lungs. The shadow darted down another cut of alley, vanishing past a chain-link fence.

Rowan slammed to a halt, chest heaving. The fence rattled in the wake of whatever had scaled it.

She stared at the metal links, heart racing. That hadn’t been a dog. That hadn’t been human either.

Her hand ached from how tightly she’d gripped the knife. She didn’t realize she was shaking until she lowered it.

Behind her, a voice growled, “Useless.”

She flinched. Her father emerged from the shadows, eyes cold as the knife at her thigh.

“You had it. And you let it go.”

“I ” Her voice cracked. She swallowed it down. “It was fast. I almost ”

“Almost gets you killed. Almost gets the city burned.” His hand shot out, grabbing her wrist. He yanked it up, forcing the knife between them. “What is this for?”

Rowan glared at him. “Killing.”

“Then why didn’t you use it?”

Her silence was answer enough.

He released her with a disgusted sound, turning away. “You’ll never be ready, Rowan. Not for this war.”

Her chest hollowed at the words. She hated how much they still hit her, how much she still wanted him to be wrong.

Her father didn’t wait. He strode down the alley, silver glinting faintly from the weapon at his hip. Rowan lingered for a moment, staring at the fence.

She could still see those eyes in the dark.

And for the first time, she wasn’t sure if she was more afraid of what she had seen or of herself.

The ride back was silent except for the hum of the truck’s old engine. Rowan sat rigid in the passenger seat, staring out at the blur of streetlights. Her father’s hands gripped the wheel like he was strangling it.

Every so often, she caught him glancing at her. Not with concern. With calculation.

When the truck finally growled to a stop in front of their house an old Victorian carved into shadow by the streetlamps Rowan pushed the door open before he’d even killed the engine.

She strode up the porch steps, knife still strapped to her thigh, shoulders tight with unspent adrenaline. The front door groaned as she shoved it open.

Inside, the house smelled like cedar smoke and oil. The walls were lined with mounted crosses, faded family portraits, glass cases holding silver weapons polished to a mirror gleam. It looked less like a home and more like a shrine to bloodshed.

“Back already?”

Her cousin Cade lounged in the armchair by the fire, long legs stretched out, boots kicked up on the table. He twirled a silver bullet between his fingers, smirking as she entered.

“Don’t tell me you scared it off again, Rowan.”

Rowan’s teeth clenched. “Don’t you have a life?”

“This is my life.” Cade’s smirk widened. “Unlike you, I actually know what to do with it.”

Before Rowan could fire back, her father slammed the door behind him. The sound snapped the air taut.

“Sit down,” he barked.

Rowan didn’t move. “I’m fine standing.”

“Sit. Down.”

She dropped into the couch, arms crossed, glaring at Cade’s smug face across from her.

Her father paced in front of the fire. His shadow loomed over the weapons mounted on the wall, flickering with every step. “You had one chance tonight. One. And you froze. Again.”

“It wasn’t a wolf at first,” Rowan said, voice sharp. “It was a stray dog. You wanted me to kill a dog to prove a point?”

Cade laughed, low and mean. “Should’ve. A hunter doesn’t hesitate over something that pathetic.”

“Shut up, Cade.”

“Both of you, enough,” her father snapped. His gaze cut to Rowan. “You think hesitation makes you merciful? It makes you weak. And weakness gets people killed.”

Rowan lifted her chin. “Or maybe killing everything that moves makes you a monster.”

The silence after those words was so heavy it felt like the whole house was holding its breath.

Her father’s jaw tightened. For a second, she thought he might hit her but he didn’t. He only stepped closer, voice like gravel.

“You’re not here to decide what’s a monster, Rowan. You’re here because of what’s in your veins. You were born for this.”

Her hand twitched against her thigh. “I didn’t ask for it.”

“No one asks for bloodlines. They carry them. They honor them.” He leaned closer, eyes burning. “Your blood is silver. Do you understand what that means? You’re not just a hunter. You’re a weapon.”

Rowan’s stomach turned. She hated when he said it, hated how his voice carried pride like she was some family heirloom forged for war.

From the doorway, a quieter voice cut through the tension. “She’s still a girl, Nathan.”

Rowan’s mother stood there, arms folded, her presence softer but steady. Her dark hair fell over her shoulders, and her eyes flicked between her husband and daughter.

“She’s not ready to be a weapon,” her mother said.

“She’ll never be ready if she keeps choosing weakness.”

“Or maybe she’ll be stronger if she chooses for herself.”

Rowan’s throat tightened. She didn’t say thank you, her mother didn’t want thanks. She just wanted balance in a house that had never known.

But Cade broke the moment with a sharp laugh. “Weapon or not, she’s a liability. If she keeps screwing up, I’ll handle it.”

Rowan’s eyes snapped to him. “Handle what, Cade?”

He leaned forward, grin sharp. “The wolves. The job. All of it. Maybe Dad should’ve trained me to inherit, not you.”

Before Rowan could lunge at him, her father’s voice cut like a blade. “Enough.”

The fire crackled. Silence pressed in again.

Her father turned to Rowan, voice low but final. “This family survives because we do not falter. You falter again, and you’re done. I won’t risk lives on your hesitation.”

He didn’t wait for her response. He just strode past her, deeper into the house, leaving the words like a scar across the room.

Rowan sat frozen, blood roaring in her ears. Cade’s smirk lingered, her mother’s worried eyes hovered, and her father’s threat burned.

Her veins hummed with silver, heavy, unwanted, alive.

And for the first time, she wondered if it would kill her before she ever used it on a wolf.