Page 124 of A Wolfe in the Woods

Her pupils shifted beneath half-lowered lids, unfocused, as if something else had caught her attention. Her eyes jumped left to right in short, precise sweeps, tracking something.

“What do you see?” I asked.

She went still. “East,” she said, then paused. “Old utility road. Someone’s on the hill.”

My blood went cold.

“Go!” she barked, sharper than I’d heard her in weeks. “I’ll call the fire department.”

I turned and ran, boots sinking into dry grass, heading east, cutting across the field toward the darker edge of the Hollow where the land rose sharply. The ground sloped upward fast. Trees thickened. Shadows closed in.

The old utility road appeared as I crested the incline. It was a narrow, half-forgotten scar in the earth, choked with weeds and coated in fallen pine needles. It hadn’t been used in years. Too rough. But it cut cleanly toward the eastern ridge.

And then the smell hit me again. Stronger. Worse. Plastic and fertilizer and treated soil. My pace faltered.

The greenhouses.

I broke through the trees and saw them. My heart lurched. Two of them were already burning.

Their curved frames glowing from within like enormous lanterns stuffed with fire. Plastic sheeting sagged and curled as it burned, dripping molten streaks onto the ground below.

“No—no—” I roared, running desperately.

The heat slammed into me.

The gladelace butterflies!

I needed to reach them. Needed to free them.

Inside the nearest structure, shapes fluttered wildly—all of them trapped, wings battered against warped plastic as they hurled themselves again and again at seams that wouldn’t let them escape.

I heard their screams.

High, sharp sounds—not audible to human ears, but desperate.

I snapped.

My vision sharpened. My hands burned. Claws slid free, skin splitting. My jaw locked as my canines pressed down, fangs appearing. My ears angled instinctively. Not a full shift. Just the tools for the job.

I tore at the enclosure with my bare hands.

Plastic split as my claws ripped through reinforced seams meant to withstand storms—notLycans. Smoke poured over me. Heat scorched my face like a roaring sauna. I ripped again and again, widening the breach until it was just barely enough.

“Get out,” I choked, slapping uselessly at the frame as if my hands could undo what was already lost.

A rush of movement came. Some of them burst free, spiraling into the night in a chaotic storm of scorched color.

Then the tarp collapsed inward as the fire surged.

My sleeve caught flame. I slapped it out without registering the pain, my focus snapping upward as the roof buckled. A section gave way with a violent hiss.

I staggered back, coughing, eyes burning, heat rolling over me in suffocating waves. No more screams came from the butterflies.

Faint smoke curled from my skin as I straightened, claws retracting slowly. Faint smoke curled from my skin as the shiftbled away, heat still thrumming under my bones, leaving only fury and ash behind.

This was deliberate. Cruel.

I turned and lifted my gaze.