“Sit.”

The word cracked through the office like a whip.

Rowan didn’t move.

Her father sat behind a heavy oak desk, papers spread like battle plans, the silver crucifix on the wall gleaming in the lamplight. He didn’t look up when she entered. Didn’t need to. The authority in his voice carried the expectation of obedience.

She closed the door and stayed standing.

“I said sit.”

Rowan forced her legs to move. The chair scraped against the wood as she dropped into it, arms folded tight.

Her father finally lifted his gaze. His eyes were sharp, cold, like steel honed too many times.

“You failed today.”

Her jaw clenched. “I didn’t ”

“You hesitated.”

Her hands curled into fists in her lap. “There were civilians everywhere. I couldn’t ”

“Wolves don’t care about civilians,” he snapped. “Every second you delay is another second they sink their teeth into someone’s throat.”

Rowan flinched despite herself.

Her father leaned forward. “You are not a civilian, Rowan. You are not some girl with a soft conscience and weak resolve. You are my daughter. And my daughter does not hesitate.”

The air in the office thickened. Rowan stared at the desk, tracing the lines in the wood grain so she wouldn’t have to meet his gaze.

Finally, she whispered, “He wasn’t like the others.”

Silence. Heavy.

Her father’s voice dropped, too calm. “Explain.”

Rowan wet her lips, hesitating. Then the words tumbled out. “He knew me. He called me hunter-girl. He, he didn’t hide. He wasn’t afraid.”

Her father’s jaw tightened. He leaned back slowly, fingers steepled under his chin.

“Then he’s more dangerous than the others,” he said. “And that means your hesitation was worse than failure. It was betrayal.”

Rowan’s head snapped up. “What?”

“You’ve put this family at risk,” he said, voice like stone. “If he knows you, he knows us. If he knows us, he knows how to strike.”

Her chest tightened. “That’s not he didn’t ”

“You don’t know what he did or didn’t do,” her father cut in. “You don’t know. But you gave him the chance.”

The words hit like blows, each one heavier than the last.

Rowan opened her mouth to defend herself then shut it. Nothing she said would matter. Not here. Not to him.

Her father stood, walking around the desk. He stopped behind her chair, hand heavy on her shoulder. The weight was both steady and suffocating.

“You will not see hesitation again,” he said quietly. “Because the next time you cross paths with him, Rowan, you will kill him. Do you understand?”

Her throat worked. “Yes.”

“Say it.”

The word burned her tongue. “I’ll kill him.”

His grip tightened briefly, then released. “Good.”

He moved back to his desk, already reaching for a file. The conversation was over. For him.

Rowan rose slowly. Her legs felt like they weren’t hers. Her hand brushed the knife under her jacket, the metal heavier than it had ever felt before.

She left the office without another word.

But as the door shut behind her, one thought pulsed louder than the rest, fierce and unwelcome.

She wasn’t sure she could do it.

And worse she wasn’t sure she wanted to.

The church door banged shut behind her. Rowan stepped into the night air like she’d been holding her breath for hours.

The city was quieter now. Fewer cars, more shadows. The kind of night that always made her stomach tighten. The kind of night when things moved where they shouldn’t.

She shoved her hands deep into her jacket pockets, knife pressing against her side like an accusation. Her father’s words still rang in her ears. You will kill him.

Her boots echoed on the pavement as she cut down a side street. She wanted distance, air, space to think.

“Rough family meeting?”

Rowan froze.

The voice came from the alley mouth ahead. Smooth. Familiar.

Adrian stepped into the light of a flickering streetlamp, his hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie. No apron now, no café counter between them. Just him. And her.

Her stomach dropped. “You ”

“Me,” he said, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “What a coincidence.”

Her hand twitched toward the knife. “You followed me.”

“Followed?” He tilted his head. “That implies you noticed me before now.”

Her pulse slammed. “You shouldn’t be here.”

He chuckled, low. “That’s rich, hunter-girl. You step into my streets, and I’m the one who shouldn’t be here?”

Rowan’s throat tightened. “Your streets?”

“Everything after dark is mine,” Adrian said. His eyes caught the light and for the first time, Rowan saw the wolf behind them, the glint too wild to belong to a human.

Her fingers closed on the knife hilt inside her pocket. Her father’s voice hammered in her skull: Kill him. Don’t hesitate.

But her voice shook when she spoke. “Why haven’t you attacked me yet?”

Adrian laughed softly. It wasn’t cruel. It was worse. Almost amused. “If I wanted you dead, Rowan, you’d already be bleeding on the pavement.”

The sound of her name on his tongue hit harder than it should have.

Her grip on the knife trembled. She should move. She should strike. But her feet stayed rooted.

Adrian stepped closer, slow and deliberate.

“You’re dangerous,” he said. “Not because of that knife. Because you don’t know which side you’re on.”

Her chest seized. “I know exactly which side I’m on.”

“Do you?” His smile sharpened. “Then why are you still standing there?”

The night pressed in, every shadow thick, every breath too loud. Rowan’s hand was still on the knife. But her blade was sheathed, her hesitation louder than her heartbeat.

And Adrian leaned just close enough that she felt the heat of him, smelled the wild tang that didn’t belong in a city street.

“Careful,” he murmured. “Hesitation gets people killed.”

Before she could move, before she could think, he melted back into the shadows. Gone.

Rowan’s knife slid free at last, silver gleaming under the streetlight. Too late. Again.

Her father’s voice would crucify her.

And Adrian’s voice? Adrian’s voice would haunt her.

Rowan slid the knife back into her jacket and hurried toward the church. Her pulse was still hammering, her skin still prickling where Adrian’s nearness had brushed it.

She needed to get inside before anyone noticed she’d been gone.

But Cade was leaning against the steps, bow slung casually over his shoulder. His grin widened when he spotted her.

“Out for a midnight stroll, cousin?”

Rowan stiffened. “Move.”

Cade blocked her path, smirk, sharp in the streetlight. “Funny thing. Dad says you’re supposed to be on watch, not wandering off into alleys.”

Her jaw tightened. “I wasn’t wandering.”

“Oh, so you were on a mission,” he drawled. His eyes flicked to her jacket pocket, where the knife weighed heavy. “Did you finally use that thing, or is it still nice and clean?”

Her throat went dry.

Cade leaned in, voice dropping. “You smell like smoke and city dirt. And something else…” His nostrils flared slightly. A cruel grin broke across his face. “Wolf.”

Rowan’s stomach twisted.

“You’re imagining things,” she snapped.

“Am I?” Cade tilted his head, studying her like prey. “You wouldn’t hesitate to tell if I’d crossed one. But you? You come back empty-handed, smelling like him…” He let the sentence dangle, sharp as a blade.

Rowan forced her voice steady. “If I see one, I’ll kill it. Same as you.”

Cade’s grin sharpened. “That’s the thing, Rowan. I don’t think you will.”

Before she could answer, the church door creaked open. Her father’s silhouette filled the frame.

“Inside,” he barked.

Cade’s smirk lingered, but he stepped aside. “After you, cousin.”

Rowan brushed past him, heart pounding. She could feel his eyes burning into her back all the way inside.

Her father waited just beyond the door, gaze sharp.

“You’ll take Cade with you tomorrow night,” he said. “No more hesitation. No more mistakes.”

Rowan froze. “What?”

“You heard me,” he said. “He’ll keep you accountable.”

Cade’s voice slid in from behind, smug and poisonous. “Don’t worry, Rowan. I’ll make sure you don’t miss again.”

Rowan’s knife burned against her side. Adrian’s words echoed in her skull. You don’t know which side you’re on.

And for the first time in her life, she wondered if he was right.

The church’s heavy door slammed shut behind her, muffling the city’s noise. Inside, the silence was worse, thick, suffocating, like the stones themselves were listening.

Rowan followed her father down the aisle. Cade trailed at her shoulder, close enough that she felt the smug heat of his grin even without turning.

Her father’s office loomed ahead, the crucifix on the door catching what little light there was. He stopped before it and turned.

“You’ve been given chance after chance, Rowan. That ends tonight. Tomorrow, you hunt. Cade will be with you. And when you find him, you end it. No hesitation. No excuses.”

Rowan’s chest tightened. She forced her voice steady. “And if it isn’t him?”

Her father’s eyes cut sharp. “It’s him.”

Rowan swallowed hard. “But if it isn’t?”

“Then you’ll kill it anyway,” he snapped. “Every wolf dies. There are no exceptions.”

The words landed like chains snapping shut.

Her mother appeared at the far end of the nave, her expression unreadable in the shadows. Her eyes met Rowan’s for a moment something flickered there, sympathy or warning, Rowan couldn’t tell. Then her mother looked away.

Rowan’s father pushed open the office door. “Get some sleep. Tomorrow, there is no margin for failure.”

Rowan didn’t move.

Cade leaned close, voice a whisper meant to cut. “Don’t worry. If your hands shake, I’ll steady them for you.”

Her stomach turned. She forced herself to walk past him, past her father, out into the night air again.

The cold slapped her skin, but it didn’t clear her head. Adrian’s voice threaded through her thoughts, taunting, questioning, impossible to shake.

You don’t know which side you’re on.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She yanked it out, hoping for distraction.

A new message glowed on the screen.

Meet me where the streets cross like teeth. Midnight. Don’t bring your knives. A

Rowan’s breath caught.

She looked back at the church, at the dark silhouette of her father in the office window, Cade’s shadow moving in the nave.

Then back at the message.

Her knife pressed against her ribs, heavy as sin.

Midnight.

She didn’t type a reply. But she knew she’d go.

Rowan reread the message three times.

Meet me where the streets cross like teeth. Midnight. Don’t bring your knives.

Her thumb hovered over the screen. Every instinct screamed trap. Every lesson drilled into her since childhood said the same.

And yet… her chest tightened, not with fear, but with something sharper. Curiosity.

“Rowan.”

She jerked. Her mother stood at the doorway, framed by candlelight.

Rowan shoved the phone into her pocket. “What?”

Her mother’s gaze lingered on her face. “You’re pale.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re lying.”

Rowan’s throat tightened. “Don’t tell Dad.”

Her mother’s expression softened, just barely. She stepped closer, lowering her voice. “He only sees enemies. You don’t have to see the world that way.”

The words cracked something inside Rowan. “Then why don’t you stop him?”

A shadow crossed her mother’s face. “Because even if I did… he would not stop.”

The silence pressed between them. Rowan wanted to ask a hundred questions, but footsteps echoed behind Cade, coming down the hall.

Her mother touched her arm, brief but firm. “Be careful tonight.” Then she slipped away into the shadows.

Cade appeared, grinning like he owned the dark. “Still awake, cousin? Nervous?”

Rowan glared. “Go to hell.”

He chuckled. “Ladies first.”

She brushed past him, pulse racing. She couldn’t stay here, not with his eyes always watching, his smirk always hinting he knew too much.

By the time she reached her room, her decision was already made.

She locked the door, sat on the edge of the bed, and pulled her phone back out. Midnight wasn’t far.

The knife pressed against her side. She slipped it from its sheath, silver gleaming in the dim light. Her reflection stared back in the blade pale, tired, and uncertain.

She hesitated.

Then, with trembling hands, she set the knife on the nightstand.

For the first time in her life, she would step into the dark unarmed.