By the time we stumbled into the little human town, we looked like we crawled out of a swamp. No shoes. Soaked clothes. Mud up to my calves. Hair plastered to my face. And, because the universe loves a dramatic punchline, Alpha “I’m Too Serious For Life” Gregor stomped into the shabby little inn like he was conquering a kingdom.

We were supposed to be at the next safehouse. Nice, quiet, hidden from the world. Maybe with actual food and—gods forbid—dry socks. But no. According to ...