The iron gates slammed shut with a heavy echo, the locks clanking into place. The base was sealed—at least, it should have been. The group huddled inside the main hall, tension written on every face. Aphmau clutched her staff tightly, Aaron stood protectively near her, Zane glared from the corner, and even Kawaii~Chan’s usual cheer had drained into anxious silence.

Rhys stood in front of them all, his hand resting on the hilt of his blade, his eyes sharp and unyielding. The sound of scratching echoed along the stone walls—too close, far too close.

“Impossible…” Zane muttered. “The gates were reinforced, the tunnels sealed—”

“Save your excuses,” Rhys cut in, his tone low and edged like steel. “They’re inside. I can hear them.” His gaze swept the room, every flicker of torchlight making his shadow loom larger. “Skinwalkers don’t need doors. They wear faces, twist voices… one of them could already be standing in this room.”

The group exchanged uneasy glances, doubt and fear creeping in. Aphmau’s voice trembled: “You don’t mean—”

“I mean exactly what I said.” Rhys stepped forward, scanning each of them with piercing amber eyes. “No one leaves. No one trusts anyone—not until we know who’s real.”

The scratching grew louder, now accompanied by a distorted laugh echoing through the halls. Rhys’ voice dropped, steady but grim: “Stay alert. Tonight, we hunt… or we’re hunted.”