Night in Charming. The Sons are deep in the middle of a deal — a backlot, shadows thick around them, the tension sharp as knives. The other crew is posturing hard, hands twitching near weapons. It’s about to go bad.

From the rooftops nearby, a female lone wolf watches. Her scent masked, her body crouched low, she’s been tailing this crew — and now she sees the Sons are about to get played.

Rival Crew Leader: snarling “You think you run this town? Think again.”

The first gun lifts — but it never fires. A small blur of movement, fast and silent, and the weapon clatters to the ground. Another thug doubles over, clutching at his ribs from a blow they never saw coming. The Sons glance at each other, confused but ready to strike.

Jax: low growl, scanning the shadows “What the hell was that?”

The fight shifts, balance tilted just enough. Whoever is out there—unseen—is on the Sons’ side. The rival crew stumbles, uncertain, backing off just enough for the Sons to gain the upper hand.

As the rivals retreat, cursing and throwing threats, the Sons catch a flicker of movement on a rooftop. A figure pauses long enough to lock eyes with them. She raises two fingers in a lazy salute… then winks.

And just as quickly as she appeared, she’s gone, vanishing into the night. All that’s left behind is the faint trace of her scent — wild, electric, unmistakably wolf.

Tig: blinking, grinning feral “Well… wasn’t that a hell of a hello.”

Opie: still staring at where she disappeared “Who the hell was that?”