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Someone knocked again. Three sharp raps that made my coffee mug rattle on the desk.
I stared at my phone. The DM was still there. Don't open up unless he says your mom's name. From an account with no profile pic and a string of numbers for a username. Posted two minutes after I ended the stream.
Another knock. Heavier this time.
I grabbed my phone and crept to the front window. Pulled the curtain back half an inch. A guy stood on my porch. Forty-something maybe. Jeans and a brown jacket. Hands in his pockets. He looked tired. Not scary-tired. Just regular tired.
He turned his head. Looked right at the window.
I dropped the curtain.
"Ivy Chen." His voice came through the door. Calm. "I'm not here to hurt you. I just need five minutes."
My heart slammed against my ribs. Nobody used my real name. The stream was MidnightIvy. Work was just Ivy. My lease had both names but the landlord never came by.
"How do you know my name?" I kept my voice steady. Ish.
"Because I knew your mom."
I stopped breathing.
The DM said he'd say her name. This guy just said mom. That wasn't the same thing. Could be a trick. Could be—
"Jenny," he said. "Jenny Zhao. Before she married your dad and became Jenny Chen."
My hand went to the deadbolt. I stopped myself. "A lot of people could know that."
"She called you Rabbit."
I yanked the door open.
The guy took a step back. Held his hands up. "Easy."
"Who the hell are you?" My voice came out wrong. Too loud. Shaking.
"Cole Morgan. I worked with your mom about twenty years ago. I—" He stopped. Looked past me into the apartment. "Can I come in? There's a team two zones over. They're running signal scans and if they catch your stream metadata—"
"You're not coming in until you tell me what you want."
He sighed. Pulled a folded piece of paper from his jacket. Held it out.
I didn't take it. "What is that?"
"Missing persons list. King County. January 2006. Your mom's on it. So are six other women. All of them triggered within a three-month window. Gray Protocol got four. Two got out. Your mom—" He stopped. "Your mom didn't."
Gray Protocol. I'd heard that name once. Maybe twice. Urban legend stuff on the paranormal boards. Secret government werewolf hunters. Except most people said it was fake.
"You're telling me my mom was murdered by some conspiracy theory group?"
"I'm telling you she was murdered by the group I used to work for. And they're coming for you next if you don't get offline."
I stared at him. He didn't blink. Didn't look away.
A car door slammed somewhere down the block.
Cole's head snapped toward the sound. "We need to move. Now."
"I'm not going anywhere with—"
Glass exploded behind me.
I hit the floor. Instinct. No thought. Just down.
Cole was already moving. He grabbed my arm and hauled me up. "Back door. Go."
"What the—"
Another window shattered. Living room this time. Something metal bounced off the wall. Started hissing.
Smoke grenade. My brain caught up a half-second too late. Gray fog was already pouring out.
Cole shoved me toward the kitchen. "They're not here to talk. Move."
I ran. He was right behind me. We hit the back door and I slammed my hand into the lock. Twisted it. My fingers were shaking so hard I almost couldn't grip.
The door flew open. Cold air hit my face.
We were in the alley. Dumpsters and cracked asphalt and a chain-link fence at the far end.
Cole grabbed my wrist. "This way."
"Wait." I yanked my arm back. "My laptop. My stream setup. Everything's in there."
"You'll be dead in there."
"I need that equipment. I can't afford—"
Something punched through the door frame. Splinters exploded outward. Another punch. And another.
Not punches. Bullets.
"Okay." My voice came out flat. Numb. "Okay. Let's go."
We ran.
Cole was faster than he looked. I kept up. Barely. My lungs burned. My legs felt like they were full of sand. We hit the fence and he boosted me over. I landed hard on the other side. Stumbled. Caught myself.
He landed next to me a second later. Didn't even look winded.
"Your car?" He didn't wait for an answer. Looked around. Pointed at a black truck parked two blocks down. "Mine. Come on."
We made it to the truck. He unlocked it. I climbed in. My hands were still shaking. I could hear my heartbeat in my ears.
Cole started the engine and pulled out. Smooth. Calm. Like we were going to get groceries.
I looked back. Smoke was pouring out of my apartment windows. No flames yet. Just smoke. I couldn't see anyone. Couldn't see the shooters.
"They're not going to chase us," Cole said. "They'll sweep the apartment. Confirm you're gone. File the report and move to the next target."
"Report." I turned to look at him. "You mean they're cops?"
"Some of them. Some are private contractors. Gray Protocol's been outsourced since 2010. Cheaper that way."
I wanted to scream. Or cry. Or punch something. Instead I just sat there. Staring at my shaking hands.
"Why?" My voice cracked. "Why my mom? Why me?"
Cole turned onto the highway. "Because you triggered. Your mom triggered twenty years ago when she was pregnant with you. We thought—" He stopped. Jaw tight. "I thought we stopped it. I got her out. Set her up with new ID, new city, the whole thing. But someone found her anyway."
"And now they found me."
"Yeah."
I pressed my palms against my eyes. Tried to breathe. "How?"
"Your stream. You went live on a full moon. You shifted—partial shift, probably—and someone was listening. That growl you tried to cut? It got clipped. Auto-uploaded to your highlights. One of Gray's audio analysts flagged it."
My stomach dropped. "The clip."
"Yeah. The clip."
I pulled out my phone. Opened my stream app. My hands were still shaking but I managed to navigate to my highlights.
There it was. Top of the list. Forty-seven seconds. The title was auto-generated: EPIC REACTION - Lunar Hunt Jump Scare.
I clicked it.
The video started. Me on screen. Just my hands and the desk and the monitor glow. The game audio was loud. Footsteps. Breathing. The werewolf enemy was close.
Then the jump scare hit. The werewolf lunged at the camera. The game sound cut out.
And I heard it. That growl. Low and raw and wrong.
But that wasn't the worst part.
I paused the video. Dragged the timeline back five seconds. Watched it frame by frame.
There. In the window reflection behind my setup.
A figure. Gray hoodie. Standing outside. Looking in.
I couldn't see the face. The resolution was too low. But I could see the shape. The posture. The way the hood shadowed everything above the nose.
She was watching me. The whole time I was streaming. The whole time I was shifting.
She was already there.
"Cole," I said. My voice didn't sound like mine. "Someone was outside my window during the stream."
He glanced at my phone. His face went hard. "Show me."
I handed him the phone.
He pulled over. Stopped the truck. Watched the clip.
His jaw clenched.
"You know who that is," I said.
He didn't answer. Just kept staring at the screen. At the gray-hooded figure frozen in the window.
"Cole. Who is that?"
He handed the phone back. Started driving again.
"That's Leah Gray," he said. "She runs Gray Protocol field ops now. And she's the one who killed your mom."