Page 10 of The Hyena’s Guardian

“That is somehow worse.”

Vale changed the display again, revealing a rough map of the monastery grounds spread across multiple levels beneath the structure. Most of the deeper sections remained unfinished or collapsed, though Matt had the uneasy feeling the difference between those two possibilities mattered more than anyone in the room was saying aloud.

“The monastery sits above intersecting ley fractures,” Soren explained. “Something beneath the structure appears to amplify territorial and predatory instincts while simultaneously destabilizing higher cognitive regulation. The site does not create instinct, it strips away everything layered over it.”

Matt blinked once. “You saying the place drives shifters feral?”

“No,” Soren said carefully. “I am saying it removes the barriers civilized minds build around instinct.”

Somehow that answer managed to sound far worse than simply saying the place was magical.

Matt leaned forward “And Valker decided the best response was sending the bitten hyena with documented impulse control issues down there because…?”

“Because you survived your transition without pack stabilization,” Vale answered instantly.

“Pack-trained operatives rely on bonds, hierarchy, and established control structures,” Soren said. “The site appears to exploit those structures. You adapted without them.”

Matt went still as the implication behind their answers settled heavily across the room. He felt the weight behind it, enough to make the space around him seem suddenly smaller. “You think that matters.”

“We know it matters.”

Matt glanced toward Keene, then back toward Vale. “So this whole thing is a test.”

“No,” Vale said calmly. “The mission is real. The danger is real. People are missing.” Her gaze held steady on his. “But your adaptability may increase operational survival.”

The answer sounded dangerously close to you are expendable in a useful direction, and Matt recognized the phrasing at once because the military had perfected the art of dressing up sacrifice as professionalism. Baptiste watched him from across the room, not intrusive so much as observant, like he was waiting to see whether Matt was going to bolt or bite somebody. At the moment, both options felt equally reasonable.

“You keep saying missing,” Matt said finally. “Not dead.”

Vale nodded once. “We recovered partial audio from one operative approximately nineteen hours ago.”

Matt leaned forward. “Partial?”

Keene finally pushed away from the wall. “That operative was no longer alone when the transmission came through.”

Something cold slid down Matt’s spine as Vale activated another file and static crackled softly through hidden speakers before distorted breathing filled the conference room. Footsteps followed a second later, fast and uneven against stone corridors, while someone whispered something in Romanian that Matt could not understand. Then another voice answered from deeper in the tunnel. Low. Animal. Wrong enough that the fur along the back of Matt’s neck reflexively tried to rise.

The screaming came next.

The audio cut out abruptly afterward, and silence lingered across the room while Matt stared at the frozen display and felt the hyena within pacing hard enough to make his pulse uneven. Every instinct he had recognized the same thing without hesitation: predator, trapped and injured and dangerously alone.

“Jesus Christ,” Matt muttered softly.

“No,” Baptiste said. “Historically speaking, probably not.”

Matt looked at him, but Baptiste’s expression stayed perfectly serious, and somehow that made the room feel worse instead of lighter.

Vale didn't acknowledge the interruption. “Satellite imaging suggests portions of the monastery continue descending well below mapped excavation zones. Structural scans indicate artificial hollow spaces extending nearly two hundred meters.”

Matt looked back toward the screen. “That is not a monastery anymore.”

“No,” Soren agreed softly. “It is something buried beneath one.”

Matt stared at the dark tunnels winding beneath the monastery on the display.

Something about the place looked wrong even through photographs and satellite scans, ancient in a way that seemed less connected to history and more connected to hunger.

The deeper sections looked patient, as though they had been waiting for someone to return all along. Worse, despite the unease tightening through him, some instinct he did not fully understand kept urging him toward the darkness rather than away from it.