The station buzzed with quiet tension.

  It was well past midnight, and most of the desks were empty, the harsh glow of the overhead lights casting long shadows. The Wolf had left his mark—a body stolen, an identity used, a game played to perfection.

  And now, he had Red’s attention.

  Hook, Hunter, and Peter sat around a conference table with her, going over what to do next.

  “We can’t keep you here forever,” Hook muttered, rubbing his temple. “You’re a civilian, not a cop. And whether I like it or not, you’ve got a target on your back.”

  Red exhaled slowly. “Then let me disappear.”

  Hunter arched an eyebrow. “Disappear where?”

  Red folded her arms. “My grandma’s house. It’s in the woods, a couple miles outside town. No one knows she lives there—hell, half the town probably thinks she’s dead.”

  Hook and Hunter exchanged a glance.

  Peter frowned. “You sure she’ll be okay with you staying there?”

  “She’ll deal with it,” Red muttered. “It’s not like I have many options.”

  Hook leaned back in his chair, regarding her for a long moment. Then he nodded. “Fine. You leave in an hour.”

  Red raised an eyebrow. “That easy?”

  Hook smirked slightly, but it lacked his usual edge. “I may be an asshole, but even I don’t want to be the guy that hands you over to the Wolf on a silver platter.”

  Red blinked, tilting her head.

  “You’re being weirdly nice to me, Hook,” she muttered.

  His smirk deepened. “You may be a pain in my ass and cause me extra paperwork, but that doesn’t mean I want you dead.”

  For the first time that night, Red laughed. Just a little.

  Hunter shook his head, muttering something about Hook getting soft.

  Peter leaned over the table toward her. “You want coffee while we wait?”

  Red sighed, stretching her arms. “Yeah. Two creams, two sugars.”

  Peter grinned. “For someone so bitter, you sure like sweet coffee.”

  Red smirked but didn’t argue.

  Peter stood, heading toward the break room.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Red leaned back in her chair, closing her eyes for just a second.

  And then—

  The howl cut through the silence.

  Red’s eyes snapped open.

  The station was empty.

  The warm hum of conversation was gone.

  The only sound was the faint flicker of the fluorescent lights above her.

  Another howl echoed from somewhere down the hall.

  A chill ran down her spine.

  Slowly, she stood up.

  “Peter?” she called.

  Silence.

  Red’s stomach twisted.

  She turned toward the break room, her footsteps echoing too loudly against the tile floor.

  The closer she got, the more she could smell something metallic.

  Her pulse hammered in her chest.

  She stepped inside—

  And her breath caught.

  Peter was lying on the floor, his coffee spilled beside him, the dark liquid mingling with the pool of blood spreading beneath his body.

  His throat was slit open.

  His eyes were glassy, vacant.

  Red stumbled forward, dropping to her knees. “No, no, no—Peter—”

  She pressed her hands against the wound, but it was too much, too deep.

  His body was still warm.

  She had just been talking to him.

  And now—

  A howl came from the hallway.

  Red froze.

  Slowly, she turned her head toward the door.

  Another sound—a wet gurgle.

  She staggered to her feet, stumbling back into the hall.

  She knew where to go.

  She ran straight to Hunter’s office.

  Her heart slammed against her ribs as she pushed open the door—

  And stopped cold.

  Hunter and Hook sat in their chairs.

  Their throats were slit.

  Their eyes stared forward, empty and unseeing.

  Blood dripped from the edges of the desk, pooling onto the floor.

  Red’s hands began to shake.

  Then—the third howl.

  This one was much closer.

  Her breath hitched.

  Slowly, she turned.

  And there he was.

  The Wolf stood just a few feet away, bathed in the pale glow of the overhead light.

  His suit was pristine, except for the dark red splatters of blood along the cuffs of his sleeves.

  His golden-brown eyes gleamed—no, glowed—menacingly red.

  A cruel smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

  Red’s blood ran ice cold.

  “I enjoyed our dance,” he murmured, tilting his head slightly. “How did you enjoy dancing with death?”

  Red’s throat tightened.

  She tried to speak—tried to move—but her feet felt like they were sinking into the floor.

  The Wolf took a slow step forward.

  “Don’t worry,” he said, voice smooth, almost amused. “The music is done. The dance is over.”

  His smile widened.

  Then—he lunged.

  Red jerked awake.

  Her breath came fast, ragged, her hands gripping the armrests of her chair.

  She blinked rapidly, her pulse racing, her body still caught between dream and reality.

  A hand touched her shoulder.

  She flinched.

  “Hey, Red—hey, it’s okay,” Peter’s voice cut through the fog. “You good?”

  She turned, staring at him.

  Peter looked fine. Alive.

  No slit throat. No blood. Just… Peter.

  Red’s fingers clenched, digging into the fabric of her dress.

  It was a dream.

  It was just a dream.

  Peter gave her a strange look. “We’re ready to head out. We’ll take you to your grandma’s now.”

  Red swallowed, forcing herself to breathe.

  She nodded slowly.

  “Yeah,” she rasped. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  But as she stood up, her hands were still shaking.

  And somewhere deep inside, she couldn’t shake the feeling that the dream wasn’t just a nightmare.

  It was a warning.