159 stood at the end of the hallway. The door hung half off its hinges, wood chewed and splintered around the frame. Black ichor streaked the walls and floor tiles where morphs had died trying to get inside.

  Mark began slamming on the cracked door. "Hey, we're back!"

  Whispers began echoing behind the door, muffled, as if a thick barricade had been set behind it.

  Something scraped across the floor. The door shifted just enough for a single eye to appear in the gap.

  "Mark?" An older man's voice, raw from stress. "You made it. Claire! Jesus, you're alive. Evan, thank God—"

  "We brought help," Claire said quickly.

  "Who?" The eye shifted, scanning the hallway.

  "They're..." the teenager said, then stopped abruptly. "I don't know... sorcerers?"

  People began moving furniture.

  The door pulled wider. More voices as people began moving furniture and freeing up space. Soon, the door swung open, and Alex took a good look in.

  He estimated twenty people packed into a two-bedroom apartment. Maybe more. They'd shoved furniture against the windows. Curtains had been torn down, probably for bandages. It smelled like sweat, people crammed together, and urine. Someone had lost control at some point. No judgment there. He'd nearly done the same his first night.

  A man in a Seahawks hoodie, slightly tanned and with a white beard, stood near the front, one hand gripping a little girl's shoulder. The girl couldn't be more than six, with short black hair. Her face was blank. Shock, probably. She'd seen something no kid should see.

  Other hands stayed locked on other shoulders. A woman at the back held a toddler wrapped in a stained blanket. The kid wasn't crying. Just staring with eyes too big for his face.

  Nobody moved forward, and nobody spoke.

  Alexander stopped three steps inside the door and kept his hands down. These people had survived demons for hours, maybe days. They'd watched neighbors die. Watched things that shouldn't exist tear people apart. Trust wasn't coming easy.

  A teenage boy held a bent metal rod like it was the only thing between him and death. Probably was, until now.

  "Are you from the military?" the boy asked.

  "Not at all," Alexander said. He looked at Samantha. "She used to be, though."

  "Police?" a woman this time, holding a baseball bat.

  A small voice piped up, leaning against the door. "He has a sword!" A kid pointing at Thomas with something like hope in his eyes.

  "We're not police either," Samantha said.

  The man in the hoodie frowned. "Then what the hell are you? Some sort of militia?"

  "What did you mean by sorcerers, Evan?"

  The teenager cleared his throat.

  Murmurs spread through the group. Nervous and confused. Running out of patience.

  Thomas stepped into the room. He didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to.

  "My name is Thomas. I'm a priest." He pointed to the sword on his back. "I won't lie to you. We came here to fight demons. Yes, demons. The things you've been hiding from. If you come with us, you have a real chance to survive this. If you stay here—" He nodded toward the boarded windows. "—you already know how that ends."

  A man with a split lip laughed, short and bitter. "You got guns?"

  "No."

  "Tanks? Trucks? Anything that makes sense?"

  "No," Thomas said. "But we know how to kill what's out there. That's what I can promise. And... I see you still have guns."

  "Almost out of ammo," the man in the hoodie said. "I'm Daryush. I... used to be in the police force."

  The crowd went quiet.

  A little girl pushed between two adults, a woman with short brown hair walking behind her. The kid was six years old, maybe, with dark blonde hair tangled and matted. Her knees were filthy with dried blood and dirt. Her face was dry, but Alex could feel some deep yearning in her, as if she'd learned crying didn't help.

  She looked at Alexander like she was searching for something—not deciding about him, but looking for someone else in his face.

  She was in pain. She probably didn't know how to express it, but Alex could tell. The people in the room questioning Thomas seemed to fade into the background.

  Alexander knelt, bringing himself to her eye level.

  "Hey, kiddo, everything alright?" he asked.

  "Did you see my daddy?" the little girl asked, eyes shifting between him and the floor.

  The question hit him in the chest. He glanced up. A woman stood behind the little girl, one hand covering her mouth, eyes wet.

  "Sofia, honey—" the woman said softly.

  "He said he would come back," Sofia continued. She kept her eyes on Alexander, not on the woman. "He went to get food. That was before everything broke." She paused, counting time in the way children do—by feeling instead of clocks. "It's been a long time."

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  "Tell me about him," Alexander said softly.

  Sofia nodded, as if that had been the right question. "He was tall. He had a beard. He carried me on his shoulders even when I got heavy." Her mouth tightened. "He likes to help people and fix things. He told me I should help people if I can."

  "Hey, you're doing that," Alexander said. "Right now."

  She watched his face closely, as if checking for a trick. Then she said, "You didn't see him."

  Alex breathed deeply. "No," he said. He did not look away. "I didn't."

  She absorbed that in silence. A nod followed, small and final, like a box being closed. "Okay." She paused for an instant, as if that wasn't the important question now. "But you fight the bad things. Don't you?"

  "I do," Alexander said.

  "Are you strong?" she asked. "Like my daddy is."

  "I'm getting there."

  Behind her, the woman was crying silently.

  Alexander put a hand on Sofia's shoulder. "Your daddy was right. You are being brave. And I'm sure he'd be really proud of you."

  The girl looked up at the woman, then back at him.

  "Are you gonna save us? From... the monsters?"

  "I'm going to do everything I can."

  Alex felt that.

  Shit. This was what he was planning to do. What he felt was the right thing to do: to help people, to keep them safe.

  And it was one hell of a burden.

  But he knew there was no one else who could fulfill it. He stood up.

  The woman was wiping her eyes. She drew in a careful breath and leaned down toward Sofia, her voice dropping to a soft murmur. "Sweetheart, could you grab a couple of water bottles for the guests, please? The cold ones, if you can find them."

  Sofia nodded at once, serious about the task, and padded off toward the supply table, counting on her fingers as she went.

  Only then did the woman let her shoulders sag. She stayed close to Alexander, close enough that anyone nearby would hear nothing more than breath.

  "I'm Adriana," she said, almost in a whisper. "We lived next door to Sofia's family. Three years. Close enough to trade groceries, complain about the same things, and even, you know, watch each other's pets. I used to babysit them; I'm on disability, you know."

  Alexander listened without interrupting. Around them, people shifted, whispered, and gathered what little they had. Time pressed in.

  "Her parents were here," Adriana continued, barely louder than the scrape of fabric. "The first night. When the window broke." Her eyes stayed fixed on the floor. "The rest of us were already inside. Sofia was with me, at the back."

  She swallowed. "Her father grabbed a chair leg. Her mother had a knife from the kitchenette. They held the things off long enough for us to push the shelves over and drag Sofia farther back." Her hands tightened together. "It couldn't have been more than a minute or two. The... the story, I'm sorry. I couldn't get myself to tell her the truth, not yet."

  Alexander nodded.

  Adriana shook her head, wiping her eyes. Her voice thinned. "I didn't know what else to give her."

  "She keeps asking when they're coming back," Adriana said. "I keep answering without answering. I'm not her mother. I'm not family. I'm just the neighbor... and now I'm all she has."

  Sofia came back then, clutching the bottles, offering them up with quiet pride, and Adriana straightened, smoothing her face before the moment could pass.

  Behind her, a man whispered to the woman with the bat. "What the hell is that thing?"

  Alexander followed the man's gaze. Fenrir sat in the hall, half-visible. The massive wolf lifted his head, watching the crowd with eyes that glowed red.

  Thomas moved between Fenrir and the survivors. "He is under our control. He will not touch any of you. Just stay away from him."

  That seemed to land better than reassurance would have.

  A roar echoed levels above them. The sun was low on the horizon.

  Alexander cleared his throat and addressed the room. "We're taking you somewhere safer than this. A few blocks from here. You'll have food, water, and medical supplies."

  "Everyone stays together," Thomas said. "No one goes alone. You follow directions, you'll make it."

  Alexander crouched beside Sofia again. Her small hand found his sleeve and gripped it. "You're going to be okay," he said quietly. "Just stay close."

  Tyger Tyger appeared in his smaller form, golden eyes scanning the survivors from behind the door. Some of the children stared. The teenager with the bat pointed. "Hey! Is that... a tiger?"

  "Yes," Alexander said simply.

  The boy looked. "How is he so calm? Is he trained? Can I pet him?"

  Alex snickered. "No."

  Tyger Tyger's tail flicked. "Wise policy. I bite."

  The room went dead silent.

  The boy's face had gone pale. Someone gasped. The woman with the toddler took a step backward and bumped into the wall.

  "Did that thing just talk?" the man in the hoodie said, hand reaching for his gun.

  "I did indeed," Tyger Tyger replied, sitting and wrapping his tail around his paws. "And I am not a 'thing.' I have a name. And manners, which is more than I can say for some of you."

  "Jesus Christ," someone whispered.

  "Not quite," Tyger Tyger said. "Though I appreciate the comparison."

  Sofia was the only one who looked fascinated.

  Alexander held up a hand. "He's with us. He's safe. He talks. Yes, it's weird. No, I can't explain it right now. Just... don't try to pet him."

  The teenage boy with the metal rod lowered it. "Is this... is this normal now? Talking animals?"

  "Nothing's normal," Samantha said. "But he's on our side."

  "This is insane," Daryush muttered. "Demons, talking tigers, trained wolves. This is completely insane."

  Fenrir padded around the edge of the group, keeping to the walls. His presence was alien, wrong in a way that made people's instincts scream. But he stayed on the perimeter and made no move toward them. After a minute, people stopped flinching every time he moved.

  Thomas raised his hand for attention. "You have questions. You'll get answers. But right now, we need to get out. You already know that demons are more dangerous at night. There's a safe place half a mile away. Grab provisions, ammunition, weapons, and let's go before it's dark. Children stay with adults at all times. If I say run, you run. If I say hide, you hide. Understood?"

  It took seconds for the people to get ready. Mark had more ammo for his shotgun, and Daryush had plenty too. They'd been through hell. They were scared. But they were listening. That was more than he'd hoped for.

  Fingers closed around his forearm, nails digging in through his sleeve.

  He jerked, turning fast. His heart leapt inside his chest.

  Samantha stood inches away from him, eyes wide open. Her face had flushed paler.

  "Stay close to her," she said. Her voice came out flat. Not in the usual Samantha way, but as if someone else were speaking.

  "What?"

  Her eyes were wrong too. Pupils blown wide, almost swallowing the color—like she was looking at something else, something only she could see.

  "Don't let go." Her fingers tightened until he felt bone grinding against bone. "It can go very wrong. Look up."

  The hair on Alexander's neck stood up. "Samantha, what are you—"

  "Stay. Close." Then she blinked.

  Her pupils contracted. Color flooded back into her eyes. Her grip loosened, and she stepped back, breathing hard like she'd been running.

  She looked at her hand on his arm, then at his face. "Sorry. I—" She shook her head. "Just take care of them. Please."

  "Are you okay?"

  "Fine. I'm fine." She wasn't. Her hands were shaking. "Just... don't let go of her. No matter what."

  She moved back toward the door before he could ask anything else.

  "Not letting go," he said quietly.

  The survivors filed out of apartment 159. The headcount was twenty-three. They moved quietly, staying close, following directions.

  Alexander walked ahead, and Samantha covered the rear. Thomas walked alongside the group, sword ready. Fenrir ranged ahead, checking corners. Tyger Tyger stayed small, weaving between legs.

  Thomas raised his voice, not shouting, just making it carry.

  "This is the plan: move in a line and stay close at all times. You hold the shoulder of the person in front of you. If something moves that isn't one of us, you don't stop unless we tell you."

  They walked down the stairs, then out of the building. The first two blocks went smoothly—just the shuffle of twenty-three pairs of feet and the glint from Fenrir's eyes when he glared behind them. Tyger Tyger had shifted into his huge form, moving along the flank, keeping close enough that the children stayed between him and Alexander.