Unmarked

The conference room on the twenty-fourth floor of the Bureau’s Internal Affairs Division wasn’t meant for comfort. No windows. No clock. Just a metal table, three chairs, and the sort of hum from the overhead lights designed to make people crack.

Evelyn Sharp sat like the crown was still on her head. Perfect posture. Neutral expression. Her suit was immaculate—tailored, charcoal grey, no jewelry save for the subtle pearl studs in her ears.

She looked bored. She looked dangerous.

Across from her sat Agent Rios, lead investigator assigned after Sasha Grant filed a formal inquiry into Sharp’s potential connection to the Omega Reform Facility.

Beside Rios, a quiet observer—Director Chan, from Oversight.

“Let’s go over it again,” Rios said, setting down a folder with a faint thud. “The Sharp estate. The land it sits on is registered under your father’s holding company. Not yours.”

Evelyn gave a faint, meaningless smile. “That’s right.”

“But you visited regularly.”

“I visit my father,” she said smoothly. “It’s hardly a crime to spend weekends with one’s family.”

Rios opened the folder and slid a grainy satellite photo across the table. It showed the northeastern quadrant of the estate—an area Evelyn had claimed was unused.

Except it wasn’t.

“You want to explain this?” Rios asked.

Evelyn didn’t so much as glance at the photo. “I don’t know what that is.”

“It's a training facility,” Director Chan cut in, voice like ice. “Underground. With restricted access. Your family filed false permits for horse stables. But our team found reinforced sublevels. Housing. Cells. Medical labs.”

“Your team,” Evelyn said. “Are you telling me the Bureau sanctioned an illegal search and seizure on private property?”

“No,” Rios said. “We’re telling you we received anonymous footage and testimony from survivors who were held there. And then obtained a warrant.”

That wiped the faint smile from her lips. But only for a second.

“Testimony?” Evelyn leaned back slightly. “From whom? Drugged-up Omegas with no idea where they were taken?”

Rios pushed another folder forward, this time thicker. “Try biometric scans. DNA logs. The electronic collar system tied directly to a server registered under your father’s company.”

“I had no knowledge of that,” Evelyn said immediately.

Chan’s brow lifted. “So you’re saying your father kept Omega slaves in a hidden underground complex on the family estate—and you had no idea?”

Evelyn folded her hands in her lap, spine stiff. “I’m saying people lie. Especially desperate people who know the system is failing them. Perhaps Ms. Grant has manufactured something to save her client. It wouldn’t be the first time she bent ethics to save a career.”

Rios leaned forward. “You’re saying Sasha fabricated two living Omegas, biometric data, video footage of inside that facility—and managed to plant that all at the estate you frequent?”

Evelyn met his gaze without blinking. “Yes.”

Silence.

Director Chan closed the folder gently. “You understand you’re under formal investigation. The council has been notified. Your access has been suspended. Any further involvement in the Miranda Priestly case is over.”

That… got her.

Her nostrils flared. But still, Evelyn nodded slowly.

Then, with an artful flick of her gaze, she turned it back around.

“If we’re done with the speculation,” Evelyn said crisply, “I’d prefer to deal in facts. I’ll authorize voluntary access to the estate.”

Rios blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I’ll take you there myself. No legal wrangling, no delays.” She lifted a brow. “Unless, of course, you’re afraid there’s nothing there and this entire witch hunt collapses.”

Director Chan exchanged a glance with Rios.

Evelyn leaned forward, her voice smooth and challenging. “You’ll find greenhouses, old training paddocks, a vineyard. A few abandoned outbuildings, yes. But nothing remotely criminal. If you're so certain, why not let me show you how wrong you are?”

Rios didn’t answer immediately. His eyes narrowed, assessing her, weighing the trap she was surely laying—and whether springing it would be worth it.

“Very generous,” Chan said finally, tone unreadable. “We’ll be in touch to schedule the walkthrough.”

Evelyn nodded once, slowly.

But as the two agents gathered their files and moved for the door, Evelyn Sharp allowed herself the faintest smile.

“Am I being arrested?”

“Not today,” Rios said. “But you’re being watched.”

As they gathered the files and stood, Evelyn finally spoke—cool, precise, venom-coated:

“You’re going to regret entertaining Sasha Grant’s fantasies.”

Rios looked over his shoulder with a flat smile. “That’s funny. She said the same thing about you.”

**-

The convoy of unmarked black vehicles wound its way up the long drive of the Sharp estate, tires crunching on gravel beneath leaf-dappled sunlight. Birdsong echoed across manicured lawns and winding trails. The place was every inch the image of upper-class serenity.

Evelyn Sharp stood waiting on the steps of the main house, composed in a slate-gray dress and matching coat. Her smile was cool but polite, practiced. Behind her, the estate stretched—impressive, ancient, and guarded by thick stone walls.

Agents Rios and Chan exited the lead vehicle, followed by a small team equipped with scanning gear, infrared sensors, and two agents from Internal Affairs’ Forensic Division.

“Welcome to my family’s estate,” Evelyn said, voice smooth and pleasant. “Shall we begin?”

They started with the main house, sweeping room after room. Every space gleamed with luxury. Nothing unusual. Nothing out of place.

Then came the vineyard and the outer buildings.

Chan paused beside a weathered barn. “These are the training paddocks you mentioned?”

“Yes. Used to breed and break show horses. We haven’t had horses in years.”

Agent Rios ran a scanning wand along the ground, noting the materials. Below the barn, according to the readings, was a foundation—and little else.

They reached the greenhouse, immaculate and humid. Evelyn guided them with gentle interest, making a point to appear helpful.

Eventually, they arrived at the small stone outbuildings flanking the estate’s far side. Half-submerged in ivy, with rusting hinges and old iron doors, they resembled storage bunkers.

“These are the underground chambers,” Evelyn said. “Cold storage and wine cellars, mostly. You’re welcome to inspect.”

She handed Chan a ring of keys. “Take your time.”

The agents descended.

The underground space was narrow, cold, and damp. Stone corridors stretched in a T-intersection—one leading to a locked wine cellar, another to a dusty archive room. The final passage ended in what looked like an old storm shelter. Concrete. Steel braces. Dusty shelves filled with broken crates.

Rios swept the scanner again.

No heat signatures. No recent biological activity. No hidden panels or suspicious materials. The scanner returned no anomalies.

“Clean,” he said, frowning.

Chan ran a hand along the back wall, pressed a brick. Nothing moved. “It’s… just empty.”

They documented everything, took samples, measured traces of air flow. But no hidden doors. No secret access points. No subterranean network.

When they emerged, blinking into the sunlight, Evelyn was waiting. Still serene.

“Well?” she asked.

“Nothing out of the ordinary,” Chan said slowly. “You were… thorough.”

“I told you,” Evelyn replied, brushing a bit of nonexistent lint from her coat. “You’d find nothing here.”

She smiled—but it was the kind of smile that didn’t reach the eyes.

As the agents packed up their equipment, Agent Rios took one last look back at the grounds. Something didn’t sit right. The estate felt too perfect. The spaces they saw felt curated.

But nothing they had proved otherwise.

**-

Two Days Earlier — Sharp Estate, Private Grounds

The low hum of heavy-duty electric lifts echoed off the walls of the real underground facility—buried far beneath the estate, accessed only through a disguised shaft in the old irrigation tunnels, well beyond the estate’s mapped sections. In the darkness, figures moved with military precision.

Omega units, heavily sedated, were wheeled into reinforced transport crates. Medical tables were stripped bare, storage fridges emptied. Even the floors were being sanitized, stripped of DNA and fluids. There could be no trace.

A man in gray gloves, face half-lit by the dull red glow of emergency lights, oversaw it all. Director Harrow, Evelyn’s top covert operative.

“We need final clearance within the hour,” he barked into a headset. “Transport One is en route to Facility B. Final sweep in progress.”

Far above, hidden within the ivy-covered maintenance shed, the disguised entrance sealed behind a reinforced steel hatch with biometric locks. A scrubbed surface now. As if it had never been opened.

The blacked-out truck rolled through the forested access road, its tires kicking up mud and pine needles as it followed a winding path far from any city. The convoy moved silently—three vehicles in total—escorted by nondescript security SUVs, each with masked drivers and darkened windows.

Inside the main truck, rows of crates were stacked and secured. Some were metal. Some held specialized temperature locks. Others were lined with reinforced polymer—designed to house biological occupants.

Omega occupants.

Most were sedated. Collars blinked in unison with soft blue pulses. One stirred—a quiet sound, a breath against the metal, unnoticed.

They’d moved them all.

Medical logs. Video surveillance servers. Drug batches and samples. Prototypes. Restraints. Every last trace of the Sharp Estate’s Omega subjugation facility had been methodically disassembled, packed, and relocated. The second site had been built years ago as insurance.

Insurance for this exact reason.

By the time the agents arrived to “search” the estate, it was already too late. Evelyn had given the order to move everything 48 hours prior—immediately after Milo’s breach.

She’d known then.

She always knew how to stay ahead.

Present — Unlisted Location, Unknown Facility

The facility Evelyn had relocated them to was more modern, built into the rock of a distant coastal cliff. Smaller, more secure. Still brutal.

Sterile white light buzzed overhead. Inside the primary room, four Omega “subjects” stood in stress positions, watched by silent handlers. Their wrists bore restraint marks that hadn’t yet healed. In the observation room, a woman leaned over a data terminal, inputting biometric logs.

Evelyn’s voice crackled through the encrypted line.

“Status?”

“Operational,” came the crisp reply from Harrow. “Phase Two has begun. All materials accounted for. No sign of exposure.”

“Good.” Evelyn’s voice was calm. “Anything left behind?”

“Nothing. Even had our scent-masking protocol sweep the tunnels.”

“And the agents?” the woman at the other end enquired

“Walked through the shell. Didn’t find a thing.”

A pause.

“Perfect,” Sasha said at last. “Maintain low output for now. Focus on conditioning and data recording. Work must continue. The moment we win this trial, I want full production again.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The call ended. Evelyn stood at the edge of her private study, the city lights behind her casting tall shadows over the room. She sipped a glass of wine, watching the night unfold. She had outplayed them—for now. The facility was intact. The operation survived. And most importantly… no one knew where the real center was.

**-

The late sun spilled golden through the high windows of the study. Andrea sat curled up on the couch with a book in her lap, half-reading, half-waiting—for anything, for quiet to last. Miranda was resting. The twins were in the garden. The world, for a moment, felt like it was holding its breath.

Sasha paced near the fireplace, arms crossed, lips tight. Her phone buzzed sharply in her blazer pocket.

UNKNOWN – IA DIVISION

Andrea looked up as Sasha answered with a curt, “Grant.”

Silence on her end as the voice came through. Andrea couldn’t hear the words, but she saw it all. Sasha’s posture locked. Her jaw clenched.

“…What do you mean empty?” Sasha’s voice dropped low, dangerous.

Another silence.

“No facility? No sign of medical equipment? No restraints? No collars?” Her eyes flared. “Bullshit.”

Andrea stood slowly, putting her book down.

Sasha turned her back slightly, shielding herself instinctively. “Are you telling me Internal Affairs is dropping the investigation?”

Andrea stepped closer. “Sasha—”

Sasha raised a hand—wait—as she listened to the voice on the other end say far too much and not enough.

“They moved it,” Sasha hissed into the phone. “You know they moved it. She’s hiding something in plain sight.”

The voice gave one last phrase. Sasha staggered a half-step back.

She hung up without saying goodbye.

The room was quiet.

Sasha stared into nothing.

Andrea crossed to her, gently. “What happened?”

“They cleared the estate,” Sasha whispered, eyes wide with disbelief. “There’s nothing there. No signs of the facility. IA said if I don’t bring physical proof or credible testimony tying Evelyn directly—they're closing the file.”

Andrea’s lips parted. “They can’t—”

“They will.” Sasha was already pacing again, frantic. “I gave them two traumatized Omegas. I gave them names, trauma reports, footage from the sting—how the hell does that vanish?”

She stopped suddenly and grabbed the edge of the desk like she might rip it in two.

Andrea stepped behind her, putting a firm hand on her shoulder.

“We’ll find something,” Andrea said, low and steady.

Sasha looked at her, fury and panic crashing under her skin. “If we don’t... if we lose this? She’ll walk away clean. And Miranda will never be safe.”

Andrea met her eyes. “Then we won’t lose.”

Silence.

Then Sasha swallowed hard, grounding herself. “I need Milo. I need Ghost. I need to know what the hell we missed. Because if Evelyn Sharp is already three moves ahead… we need to burn the board.”

**-

The hum of halogen lights buzzed through the sterile, freshly tiled hallway. Every surface gleamed with recent construction—clinical white, clean and cold. Footsteps echoed as Evelyn Sharp moved through the space, her coat pristine, her heels sharp against the concrete floor.

A man met her at the final steel door, clipboard tucked beneath one arm. Nondescript, mid-forties, the kind of face that slipped into crowds and was forgotten. He didn’t smile as he unlocked the heavy bolts.

“You wanted to see the new cell,” he said, voice clipped and neutral.

Evelyn stepped inside.

It was a perfect replica of the older rooms—minimalist, reinforced, with soft gray walls and ambient temperature controls. Padded cuffs hung from recessed mounts at the floor and headboard of the single bed. A camera, nearly invisible, blinked to life in the corner.

“Is the soundproofing in place?” she asked, inspecting every inch.

“Yes.”

“Monitoring?” Her voice stayed sharp.

“Round the clock. Heat sensors, biometric readers, mood charting. All functional.”

Evelyn turned slowly in the middle of the space. “And containment protocols?”

The man hesitated only a second. “Extreme Omega distress parameters are pre-set. If she goes into heat or lashes out, the system will engage autonomic suppression.”

Evelyn smiled, thin and cold. “Good.”

He watched her for a beat. “You haven’t told me—who is this for?”

Evelyn ran her fingers along the cuff hanging from the headboard.

“I want Miranda Priestly,” she said softly, like she was naming a prize. “And I’m not going to wait for the bureaucracy to fail me a second time.”

The man didn’t blink. “They’re still investigating you. You bring her here now, and they’ll hunt you.”

“They’ll be chasing ghosts,” Evelyn replied. “Because this time, I won’t make the same mistake.”

She faced him, ice in her veins. “Get the team prepped. When the moment presents itself, I want her taken—silently. No mistakes. No trails. Do you understand?”

He gave a single nod.

Evelyn looked around the room one last time, satisfied. “Good. Because if I can’t have her in the light… I will take her in the dark.”

**-

Sunlight spilled through the open kitchen windows, the golden warmth catching the glint of copper pots and bowls spread across the counters. The whole house smelled of honeyed bread, slow-roasted herbs, and lavender steeping in cream.

Miranda moved through the room barefoot, wearing one of Andrea’s soft, oversized shirts, her sleeves rolled up as she gently folded flower petals into honeyed dough. The sight was almost surreal—Regal Miranda, with flour dusting her cheek, brow furrowed in focus.

Andrea entered from the garden carrying a bundle of fresh-cut lilacs and ivory bellflowers, their fragrance carried in with the wind. She paused just inside the doorway, her heart catching in her chest at the sight before her.

“You,” she said with a grin, “are the most dangerous thing I’ve ever seen.”

Miranda glanced over her shoulder. “Dangerous?”

“You’ve stolen every last bit of my common sense,” Andy murmured, setting the flowers down and walking over. She wrapped her arms around Miranda from behind, nuzzling her temple. “And now you’re kneading dough like it’s foreplay.”

Miranda scoffed but leaned back into the embrace. “If I’m to attend this ridiculous Rite of Harmony, I refuse to arrive without the proper offering.”

“It’s not ridiculous,” Andy whispered. “It’s beautiful. You just don’t like ceremonies you can’t control.”

“I don’t like ceremonies that assume I need fixing.”

Andy kissed the place just behind her ear. “It’s not about fixing. It’s about affirming. Reconnecting. We survived a lot… this is the part where we remember what all of it was for.”

Miranda closed her eyes, fingers still kneading rhythmically.

“…Okay,” she whispered. “Then I want it to be beautiful.”

Andy’s smile pressed into her skin. “It will be.”

Later that afternoon they found themselves in the bedroom trying on clothes. The upstairs room had become a sea of silk, lace, and soft murmured debates. Dresses hung across the long rack—one in storm blue, another in moonlight silver, a third in pale rose with hand-stitched crystal leaves.

Miranda stood before the tall mirror in her underthings, holding the silver gown against her body with one hand. Andy watched her from the chaise, chin in her palm.

“You look like you could command a kingdom in that,” Andy said.

“I’d rather steal one in this,” Miranda quipped, picking up the rose-toned dress.

“No one will be looking at me anyway.”

“Lies,” Andy said softly, rising to her feet. She came to stand behind Miranda, resting her chin on her shoulder. Their eyes met in the mirror. “You walk into a room and people forget to breathe.”

Miranda’s lips twitched. “You’re biased.”

Miranda tried on to many dresses to count. After she was satisfied with her choose she made her way to the garden. Petals rained down as the twins skipped through the orchard, baskets filled with blossoms—some chosen carefully, some clearly tossed in with mischief. Miranda, hair braided back with sprigs of rosemary and white rosebuds, knelt beside them as they gathered more. The sun painted her in gold.

Andrea stood nearby with a tray of sugared fruits and little cakes, watching with a mix of wonder and pride. They were a family—strange, chaotic, hard-won.

Cassidy ran up and handed Andrea a flower crown she’d made. “For the Alpha,” she announced proudly.

Andrea bent low to receive it like a coronation. “Thank you, my fierce one.”

Miranda stood, brushing soil from her knees. “Is that what we’re calling her now?”

“Cassidy named me,” Andy said with a wink. “It’s official.”

Miranda arched a brow. “Then I suppose I’ll be Queen Consort.”

“Obviously,” Andy teased. “But tonight, you’re mine.”

Miranda’s gaze softened. “Then take me, Andrea. In every way.”

Andy reached for her hand, brushing her fingers lightly over the mating mark at Miranda’s neck. “Tonight, after the flames. After the rite. I’ll show you exactly how much I’m yours.”

**-

The quiet space at the far end of the house—once dusty and forgotten—had been transformed into a soft, glowing sanctuary. The windows were thrown open, letting in the scent of the budding night, the chirp of early crickets, and the warm breath of spring.

A large wooden table stood in the center, draped in raw linen the color of moonlight. On it sat an assortment of symbolic offerings: a bowl of river water to cleanse, a plate of blackberries for bitterness, honeycomb for sweetness, and a thin braid of wheat and lavender to represent resilience.

Miranda knelt before the table, her hands steady, her mind finally quiet as she arranged the offerings into a circle. Every movement was intentional. She lit a candle—one for memory. Then another—for mourning. And another still—for renewal.

Andrea sat nearby, her fingers threading small vines around a low bowl filled with obsidian stones. She was quiet, present. Every once in a while, she’d glance up and simply look at Miranda, as if grounding herself in the image of her.

“We need four elements,” Miranda murmured, placing the obsidian to the north. “Earth. Water. Fire. Air.”

Andy stood and retrieved a small feather—white, delicate, edged in soft gray. “Air,” she said, placing it down gently. “It’s from one of the kestrels that nested near the gate.”

Miranda nodded. “Perfect.”

She reached for a single beeswax taper. “And fire…”

Andy struck a match, holding the flame until it kissed the wick. They both watched it catch, watched the golden light grow.

“Do you remember your first rite?” Miranda asked quietly, her voice lost in the hush of candlelight.

Andrea smiled, sitting down beside her. “I was thirteen. My sister braided rosemary into my hair. I thought I would feel different after, like some switch would flip and I’d be… whole.”

“Did it?”

“No. But I did feel seen.”

Miranda’s lips parted slightly. “That’s what I want for tonight. Not to pretend nothing happened—but to say… we’re still here.”

Andy reached out, covering Miranda’s hand with hers. “We are.”

The twins entered then, arms full of hand-dipped candles they’d made with Andy that morning. They were varying shapes—some crooked, others lumpy—but they beamed with pride.

Miranda knelt to receive them, placing each one in a semicircle on the stone hearth. She let the girls light the first few. Cassidy held the match like it was sacred. Caroline whispered something under her breath as the flame flared.

“What did you say?” Miranda asked gently.

Caroline shrugged. “I just told the candle to be brave.”

Miranda’s eyes stung. “That’s a good blessing.”

The altar now shimmered under the low glow of dozens of candles, their light reflected in silver bowls of water and polished stones. Feathers, herbs, petals, and wax shaped the energy of the room. Outside, dusk deepened, lavender and blue sliding down the horizon.

Miranda stood in silence, dressed in her chosen gown—storm blue with subtle embroidery of stars curling along the sleeves. Her hair was crowned in woven branches and jasmine, her shoulders relaxed.

She turned to Andy. “This isn’t about ceremony anymore. It’s… so much more.’’

Andy stepped forward, dressed in her deep green robe, a symbol of grounding and the living earth. She reached out, cupping Miranda’s cheek.

“Then tonight we honor that. Not because tradition demands it—but because you deserve it. We both do.”

Miranda nodded once. “Let’s call the circle.”

Andy stepped to the north candle, and Miranda to the south. They lit the final tapers at opposite ends, completing the ring of flame around the altar.

And in the silence between heartbeats, something shifted. The world narrowed to this house, this room, this light. It was time.

As the first colors of the Blue Moon appeared, they to felt ready to make this final connection to the land and to each other. The rite of Harmony ceremony could be held every full moon, but this one is special. Tonight was the Blue Moon—a celestial alignment that occurred only once every twenty-five years. And they had the opportunity to not only witness its power, but to feast on the energy it provided. To let it strengthen there relationship like nothing else could.

**-

The wind had stilled. Even the trees stood watchful and tall.

Above, the blue moon hung low and heavy—larger than life, soaked in silver and mystery. It bathed the Vaelthorn stones in a ghost light hue, their carved sigils aglow with faint pulses, as though breathing. These markers had stood for centuries. Long before roads. Before borders.

Miranda stood barefoot on the cool soil, her storm-blue robe trailing behind her like spilled ink across pale moss. Her hair was unbound, and jasmine woven into it shifted with every breath of wind. Her Omega scent, soft and sharp with salt and honey, lingered like a song between stones.

Andrea stepped into the circle opposite her, wearing no armor, no symbols of rank or power—just a plain dark cloak with the hood thrown back and her wrists bare. Her Alpha presence was undeniable, radiating like quiet thunder, but tonight she moved gently. Intentionally. Not to take. Not to lead. But to meet.

Between them, the circle of flame still flickered—candles lit from the house, carried reverently by the twins and placed at each quarter point. Earth. Water. Fire. Air.

The sigils around them were hand-fed earlier with herbs and small offerings—salt, dried berries, crushed petals, strands of hair and thread. The land was awake now.

MIRANDA (softly, to the earth)
“I offer my voice.”

Her words carried like wind over water, brushing over the standing stones.

She reached for the simple crystal bowl placed before her. Water taken from the river that ran through the forest—cold and fresh. Miranda took a slow breath and hummed, low and resonant, the first note of her lineage’s harmony song. Her voice, her gift, her soul—offered freely.

As she sang, the water shimmered. And with it, the stone beneath her feet warmed, pulsing faintly. The magic listened. It remembered there union not to long ago.

Andrea’s hand reached for the ceremonial blade—small, crescent-shaped, its hilt wrapped in braided leather worn smooth by time.

ANDREA (to Miranda, steady)
“With blood, I bind. Willingly. Eternally.”

She sliced her palm in one clean motion, no flinch, no pause. Her blood spilled onto the roots of the standing stone behind her, soaking into the earth. The soil drank greedily, as though it had been waiting for her. For this.

Andrea stepped forward then, blood trailing from her hand to mark her passage. She came to stand before Miranda, close enough for breath to meet breath, and cupped the back of her neck.

ANDREA (barely a whisper)
“You’re not mine. I’m yours.”

Miranda’s voice cracked, the last note of her song catching in her throat as she reached up and touched Andrea’s wounded palm, pressing it over her heart.

MIRANDA
“Then we belong. Here. Always.”

The sigils flared brighter—silent lightning caught in stone. The soil beneath them thrummed like a great sleeping beast exhaling. A light wind rose, carrying petals and ash into the air as if the land itself was exhaling with relief.

The moon overhead seemed to bow lower. Closer. Bearing witness.

And then: stillness. No grand flash. No thunderclap. Just a settling. A final click of puzzle pieces long separated. Something eternal had just been written. The land had heard. And it would never forget them.

The circle of stones still shimmered, faint sigils fading gently as the last remnants of the ritual settled into the roots of the land. The candles had nearly burned low. The earth was calm.

Andrea and Miranda stood nose to nose, breath to breath, Miranda’s hand still pressed to the place on Andrea’s chest where her blood had soaked through the fabric. Neither of them spoke. There was no need.  They belonged here. They belonged to each other.

Then—

A whisper of a unknown sound. Andrea blinked. A noise behind the trees. The scent of metal. Miranda turned slightly, sensing it too—just as the lights around the circle blinked out.

Flashlights flared. Boots hit soil.

Three figures in black tactical gear moved fast and silent between the standing stones. Before Andrea could shout, Miranda was seized—two sets of arms locking around her. She struggled, but one had a stun-needle, plunging it into her side. Her body went limp before a sound could leave her throat.

“NO!” Andrea surged forward, teeth bared, scent flaring Alpha-fierce—

But a flashbang ignited between the stones.

Light. Sound. Pain.

Andrea hit the ground, blinded, roaring, scrambling back up—too late.

The tactical team disappeared into the trees with Miranda’s unconscious body between them.

The candle flames fluttered wildly and died. By the time Andrea staggered to her feet, half-deaf, vision blurred, they were gone.

She stood in the circle of stones alone.

Breath heaving.

Blood thundering.

And Miranda was gone.