The alley behind Club Saint Felix smelled of wet brick and bad secrets. The glowing sigil on the wall pulsed like a living thing, its lines breathing with a slow rhythm. The mark looked simply, but it wasn't. It was the same door carved into the dead man's chest, the same shape Anabell had drawn in the Voss library only an hour ago.
Peter Hale could hear Calla's breathing just behind him, steady but tense. They were wolves. They could feel when something on the other side of a wall wasn't meant to be touched.
Chief Lauren Batiste stood a few steps away with two plainclothes officers at her back. She didn't look like a woman who was surprised by glowing symbols on a wall. Her calm was what made Peter uneasy. People who saw magic for the first time didn't act like this. She'd seen it before. Maybe more than once.
"Step away," she said, her voice smooth. "This isn't your ground."
Peter didn't move. "You came without your usual people. No radio. No sirens. That means you're not here as Chief."
"I'm here to keep the city from falling apart," she answered.
Calla's eyes narrowed. "You mean to hide what's under our feet."
The Chief's smile was thin. She lifted her wrist slightly. The scar, a perfect ring burned into her skin, caught the light. "You don't understand what's coming."
The moment she said that, the symbol on the wall flared brighter. The air grew cold and heavy, and something deep beneath the bricks let out a low, dragging breath. Peter felt the hair rise on the back of his neck. The First Gate was already open. This was another.
Lauren's voice lowered. "Door Four. You shouldn't be here when it breathes."
Peter's voice was calm, but there was an edge to it. "Then why are you?"
"Because someone has to make sure it opens for the right side," she said.
Before Peter could move, the two men behind her drew black iron blades etched with the same door symbol. They weren't cops. They were marked humans. Their eyes had that pale shimmer that came from taking a demon's deal.
Calla stepped in front of the body. "Peter," she said quietly, "we don't have time for talk."
The alley filled with the sound of boots against wet stone as the two marked men charged forward. Peter moved fast, faster than a human could ever follow. His fist met the first man's jaw and threw him into the wall. The brick cracked. The man didn't scream; he laughed.
"Wolf," he spat. "Perfect."
The second man swung his blade toward Calla. She shifted, half-human, half-wolf, her arms thickening with muscle, her teeth sharp enough to split wood. She caught his wrist before the blade could cut her and pushed him back with a growl that made even the Chief take one step away.
Lauren didn't fight. She just watched.
Peter slammed the first man against the wall a second time, but the man caught him off guard by driving the blade into Peter's shoulder. The silver bit deep. Pain shot through him, hot and sharp, but Peter didn't drop. He twisted the man's arm until the blade clattered to the ground and kicked him into the drain. The glowing mark flickered.
Calla head-butted the second man hard enough to make him fall to his knees. She snatched his blade, tossed it to the side, and shifted fully into wolf form for half a second — long enough to remind everyone in that alley who they were dealing with.
Lauren's calm cracked just a little. "You have no idea what you're playing with," she said. "The next door doesn't wait for permission."
Peter pressed a hand against his bleeding shoulder. "Then maybe it should meet someone who bites back."
Before she could reply, the mark on the wall whined. It was a horrible sound, like metal twisting and bone cracking at the same time. Cold air swept through the alley, and for a brief second, something black and formless pushed against the stone. It wasn't a full Gate opening, not yet. But it was testing them.
The Chief slowly backed away. She wasn't afraid of the wolves. She was afraid of what was behind the wall. "We'll talk again," she said. "Soon."
She turned and disappeared into the shadows. The two marked men, battered but still alive, followed her like dogs to their master.
Calla shifted fully back to human, breathing hard. "We should have killed them."
Peter shook his head. "Not yet. We need answers more than blood."
The sigil's light faded. The cold stayed. Peter knew this wasn't over. Door Four was alive, and whoever these humans were, they weren't working alone.
At the Voss estate, Elena found Noah standing in the hallway near one of the tall windows. He was staring at the night like someone trying to convince himself the world was still normal. His hands were in his jacket pockets, but they were trembling.
"You're not a prisoner," Elena said softly as she approached. "You can leave. But if you do, the people who opened that Gate will find you long before you get home."
Noah looked at her. "You're saying monsters are real."
"I'm saying the world is bigger than what you see."
He shook his head. "I saw someone turn to ash."
Elena stepped closer, lowering her voice. "Then you saw what the rest of the world isn't supposed to. That's why the Bureau will come for you. That's why Francis is trying to keep you breathing."
For a long moment, Noah didn't speak. He looked at her face, at the way her eyes seemed too old for someone who looked so young. "What are you?" he asked quietly.
Elena didn't lie. "Vampire."
His throat tightened, but he didn't run. That surprised even her. "If I wanted to hurt you," she said, "I would have done it already."
"I believe you," he said, even though a part of him didn't. He was still human, still fighting to make sense of the night. But something about her voice, calm, low, and tired, made it hard to fear her.
In that moment, a small spark grew between them. It wasn't love. It was something quieter and sharper. Something that could grow.
In the council chamber, Francis sat at the head of the long table. House Mallory's captain leaned forward with anger in his eyes.
"This happened on your watch," the man said. "Your family holds the Covenant seat. That ash has your name written on it."
Francis didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to. "That ash was one of your own. If you want to fight me, do it after we clean the blood off the street."
"The witches are already blaming us," the captain said. "The wolves won't wait long either."
Francis's eyes hardened. "Then let them talk. Let them blame. But understand something. If we lose control of this city, we don't just lose New Orleans. We lose everything."
A few heads turned. Even his rivals knew that was true.
A servant entered quietly and handed Francis a folded paper. On it was a simple symbol: the same door Calla and Peter had found in the alley. Underneath was a number: 4.
"Door Four," Francis whispered.
The game was widening. Someone was opening Gates across the city.
Back in the alley, Peter stared at the dark brick wall. The mark was gone, but the cold wind wasn't. He touched his bleeding shoulder and thought of the Chief's scar. She wasn't just a pawn. She was part of the machine that wanted to burn this city from the inside.
"We can't hold this alone," Calla said.
Peter nodded. "No. But we can hunt."
Far beneath the city, in a place no one living should have walked, a second door shifted against the earth. The sound was soft, like something scraping claws along stone.