Saturday mornings in Moonstone usually meant calm, a city waking at its own pace, students slipping into cafés, families filling the weekend markets. But today, outside the marble steps of the Thorne estate, the air was fractured by the sharp snap of cameras.
Flashes cut through the late morning haze, white bursts bouncing off polished black cars and the dark stone columns of the estate's façade. Reporters surged forward like a restless tide, their microphones and recorders stretched out on thin arms, their voices overlapping into a storm.
Elizabeth Thorne stood at the center of it all.
Her dress was black, a sheath of mourning that shimmered faintly under the barrage of lights. Her hair, usually immaculate, seemed hurriedly pinned, and though her makeup was carefully applied, the strain beneath it showed.
Dark circles softened the sharpness of her cheekbones. Her crimson eyes, once weapons of intimidation, looked dulled, as though sleep had abandoned her entirely.
She held the podium with both hands, her nails tapping faintly against the wood as if her body needed some tether to stay upright. The microphone picked up her voice, clear but subdued:
"My beloved husband, Sebastian Thorne… was taken from us in an act of violence that has left not only myself and my family shattered, but this entire community reeling. He was a leader, a husband, a father… and his absence will be felt for generations to come."
The crowd stirred. A volley of questions followed immediately, shouted over one another.
"Mrs. Thorne, do you believe this was a targeted killing?"
"Is this related to the Gryphon family massacre earlier this week?"
"Is there a coordinated attack on the werewolf population of Moonstone?"
Elizabeth exhaled slowly, forcing composure into her answer.
"We cannot speculate… not yet. The investigation is ongoing, and I trust the authorities to find the truth. What I can say is this, violence, whether against human or supernatural, has no place in Moonstone. If this was an attack meant to sow fear, it will not succeed."
But her voice wavered on that last word, betraying the strength she was trying so desperately to hold.
For a moment, the flashing bulbs faded in her mind. Her thoughts slipped back to the morgue, to yesterday.
The coroner's voice was clinical, but she had heard little else beyond the words "no trace."
"No fibers, no prints, no claw residue, no silver fragments. Whoever did this knew exactly how to leave nothing behind."
She had stood over Sebastian's body, his chest torn open, his throat blackened where killer's claws had ripped and the rifle bullet had ended it. Even in death, he had looked indomitable. But the silence of the morgue made him small, made him mortal.
Elizabeth's hands tightened on the podium now. She blinked back into the present, into the blinding lights and the swell of voices.
Another journalist pushed forward:
"How are you handling stepping into your late husband's role as Alpha of the Thorne family? Especially now that only two major werewolf families remain in Moonstone?"
The question hit like a blade.
Her throat closed. Words refused her. For the first time in decades, Elizabeth, who had faced courts, contracts, enemies, and rivals without blinking, could not speak.
She stared past the cameras, past the people, into nothing.
The silence was noticed immediately. The shouts only grew more insistent.
"Do you intend to retaliate?"
"What is your stance on integration after the president's executive order? Some say this proves humans and supernaturals cannot coexist, your thoughts?"
"What about Elaine Rivera? She has yet to make any public appearance. How do you respond to her silence?"
The last name sharpened her stillness. Elaine.
Her rival.
The wolf she had fought for influence, for territory, for years.
Elizabeth's chest rose once, then fell sharply. Her mask cracked.
"I… excuse me."
Her voice broke as she stepped back from the podium. Security swarmed quickly, blocking the press as she turned and disappeared into the estate's shadowed doorway. The cameras kept firing, but their target was gone, leaving only the echo of her absence.
Inside, the silence was almost worse than the noise.
The double doors of the estate closed behind Elizabeth with a hollow thud, muffling the roar of voices outside. The air inside was still, but her pulse carried the chaos with her.
"Get them off my property," she ordered, her voice sharp though it trembled beneath the command. Her security detail and household staff moved swiftly, the clamor outside already beginning to recede.
She turned to another servant. "Where are my daughters?"
The woman bowed her head. "In the garden, madam."
Elizabeth exhaled, her chest tightening. She adjusted the folds of her dress and started down the long corridor toward the back of the estate. Her footsteps echoed against the marble, each one reminding her of the absence beside her. For years, Sebastian had filled these halls with his presence, commanding, indomitable, larger than life. Now they felt cavernous, hollow.
Her thoughts drifted, unbidden, toward the wider world.
Integration.
That cursed word had hung over them for months now, reshaping every conversation, every calculation. When the president signed the executive order earlier this year, acknowledging supernaturals as citizens with equal rights, the world had fractured.
Some had cheered, students who saw the future in classrooms shared, couples who no longer had to hide, businesses eager to tap into new markets.
But others… Elizabeth's mouth tightened. Others had fumed in silence until silence broke into firebombs, lynchings, and protests that spilled blood into city streets. To them, werewolves and other supernaturals weren't citizens, they were threats. Vampires weren't neighbors, they were predators. Integration wasn't coexistence; it was surrender.
And now, here in Moonstone, the Gryphon family lay in graves. Sebastian was gone. Two blows in one week. Coincidence? No. She knew better. Someone, or something, was playing a long game.
The estate's corridor gave way to glass doors that opened onto the back patio. The garden stretched outward, neat hedges framing flowerbeds, a manicured contrast to the wild sprawl of Moonstone Forest beyond.
There, on the stone steps, her daughters sat in silence.
Anissa was the first to look up, her voice soft but heavy. "Are they gone?"
Elizabeth nodded once. "They won't bother us again today."
Amber sat rigid, her fists clenched in her lap. Her eyes were red, her lips pressed so tightly they trembled. When she finally spoke, her voice cracked: "I just want to kill them. All of them."
Elizabeth paused. The fire in Amber's tone was Sebastian's fire—uncompromising, furious. Yet she could hear the fracture beneath it.
Beside her, Abigail said nothing. Her silence was not empty but weighted, like she was carrying her grief inward, refusing to let it spill. Her gaze stayed fixed on the flowers, unfocused.
Elizabeth lowered herself onto the stone bench beside them. The cold seeped through her dress, but she didn't move. For a long moment, she simply looked at her daughters, her blood, her legacy, the only pieces of Sebastian she had left.
Finally, she spoke. Her voice was quieter now, but each word was edged in steel.
"We will get to the bottom of this. No one lays a hand on a Thorne and lives. Do you hear me?"
Amber sniffed, nodding sharply though her jaw was still tight.
Elizabeth turned her gaze across the garden, toward the dark line of the forest. "But this enemy… they are not reckless. They are smart. Smart enough to erase their trail. Smart enough to strike twice in one week and leave the city grasping for answers. Whatever is coming for us, we cannot outfight it with rage alone. We must outthink it."
Anissa whispered, "And if we can't?"
Elizabeth swallowed, her throat tight. For a moment, her eyes stung—not with anger, but with grief. She thought of Sebastian, of his hand always steady on her back, of his voice, his presence filling the space beside her bed. Now, there was only emptiness.
"If we can't," she said at last, "then we learn how. Because the world has changed. And we either adapt… or we are buried with it."
The words hung over them, heavy and final.
Amber finally let a tear escape, brushing it away quickly as if ashamed. Anissa leaned against her sister's shoulder, silent comfort. Abigail remained still, but her fingers curled faintly in her lap, betraying the tension she refused to show.
Elizabeth looked at them all, her daughters, their faces so much like Sebastian's, yet carrying pieces of her as well. For the first time since the news broke, she allowed herself to admit it, even if only silently:
I miss you, Sebastian. I don't know how to do this without you.
The garden swayed gently in the wind, flowers bowing as if in mourning. Above, the clouds drifted across a pale blue sky, indifferent to grief.
And for the first time in her life, Elizabeth Thorne felt utterly, terrifyingly alone.