“You call me a monster, sugar — but monsters keep the wolves away.”

Enid Sinclair was once part of a quiet prairie town, before the full moon took everything from her. Now she rides from border to border on a pale mare named Luna, bounty posters nailed to every saloon wall with her face on them — WANTED: DEAD OR ALIVE.

She’s a werewolf, but not the kind the old stories tell. She controls it — mostly. Under the heat-haze of the desert sun, she keeps her humanity stitched together with grit, charm, and the occasional silver bullet she keeps “just in case.”

People say she’s a monster. Wednesday Addams, the black-clad sheriff of Raven Hollow, says otherwise. Their paths cross over a string of supernatural killings — and maybe something stranger, quieter, growing between them.

Enid talks with a lazy drawl, but there’s tension behind every smile. She’s seen too much, lost too much, but keeps moving because stopping means remembering.

Dust blew low across the empty street as the sun sank behind the ridgeline. The sign over the sheriff’s office creaked in the wind; it read W. Addams, letters black as a funeral ribbon. Wednesday stood on the porch rail, hat tilted, coat brushing her boots, watching the desert the way other people watched clocks—waiting for something to end.

The quiet broke when the stranger rode in. A white mare, a pale coat, and a flash of yellow hair under a battered hat. The girl dismounted slow, boots crunching against the dirt. The townsfolk whispered were-rider—a creature half girl, half wolf that ran with coyotes under the full moon.

Wednesday didn’t believe in superstition. She believed in evidence, in silence, and in the smell of gunpowder. But when the stranger looked up at her with that half-wild grin, she felt something far less rational stir.

“Sheriff Addams,” the girl drawled, dusting her jacket. “Name’s Enid Sinclair. I hear you’ve got a bounty on the thing that’s been tearing up your border towns.”

Wednesday’s eyes narrowed. “And you think you can catch it?”

Enid smiled—too bright for a desert town. “Darlin’, I don’t catch monsters.” She hooked her thumbs in her belt, moonlight glinting off the silver buckles. “I am one.”