BARRY

The forest swallowed them whole. Thick, gnarled roots twisted across the earth like the skeletal remains of ancient beasts. The air was damp, carrying the scent of moss, decaying leaves, and something else—something older. Barry felt it coil around his lungs, a presence in the dark. He knew these woods well, yet tonight, they felt different.

Lillian walked beside him, silent but alert. Her fingers hovered near the knife on her belt. Barry wasn't sure if it was for defense against the unknown—or against him.

Violet Chambers' clues had led them here, to the deep woods beyond Yuccavale's borders. Stories whispered in hushed tones spoke of exiles, outcasts, mutants who had abandoned society before society could abandon them. Barry wasn't sure what he expected to find.

But they found him first.

A rustling in the undergrowth. A shape darting between the trees. A flash of too-pale eyes reflecting in the dark.

Lillian tensed. "We're being watched."

Barry nodded. His senses stretched outward, catching movement in the trees. Not one. Not two. Dozens.

Then, a voice—low, rasping, and wrong.

"Not another step."

The moment froze.

From the shadows, figures emerged. They moved unnaturally, their forms twisting as if their very bodies rejected stillness. Some were like Barry—mutant traits barely visible, human at a glance. Others were far gone, their mutations grotesque: limbs too long, spines arched unnaturally, jaws distended with too many teeth.

Barry held up his hands, non-threatening. "We're not here to fight."

A figure stepped forward, tall and draped in a patchwork cloak of scavenged cloth. Their face was obscured by a mask of bone, carved with old symbols. When they spoke, the voice was human but strained, as if forced through vocal cords that had forgotten how to shape words.

"You seek the Forgotten."

Barry exchanged a glance with Lillian.

"That depends," Barry said carefully. "Are the Forgotten willing to be found?"

The masked figure tilted their head, studying him. Then, slowly, they turned and gestured deeper into the woods. "Come."

The settlement was nothing more than a scattering of shacks and tents hidden in the ruins of what might have once been a village. Crude lanterns burned with greenish fire, casting everything in an eerie glow. Figures lurked in the shadows, muttering in languages Barry didn't recognize.

They were all mutants. Every single one of them.

Lillian stayed close, eyes scanning every movement. Barry's stomach twisted. These people—they weren't like him. Or maybe that was a lie. Maybe this was what he could have been, what he should have been if he hadn't forced himself to wear a human mask.

The leader removed their bone mask, revealing a gaunt face, features lined with age and suffering. Their eyes, however, were sharp. Too sharp.

"I am Sable. And you... you are not the first wolf to tread these woods."

Barry stiffened. "You knew I was coming?"

Sable smiled. "No. But I knew something like you would find us eventually." They gestured to a worn-out wooden table near a dying fire. "Sit. We have much to discuss."

Barry and Lillian hesitated before lowering themselves onto the uneven stools.

Sable studied them both, eyes lingering on Barry. "You do not belong here."

"I'm just trying to understand what's happening," Barry said. "The killings. The CPG raids. All of it."

Sable exhaled, slow and deliberate. "You seek knowledge. Then know this—you are standing at the edge of war."

Barry's jaw tightened. "Explain."

Sable gestured toward the deeper woods. "The CPG's presence grows because they know what lurks in the dark. They fear us, yes, but they fear something worse among us."

Lillian leaned forward. "What do you mean, 'worse'?"

Sable's expression darkened. "There are those among us who have forsaken what little humanity we still possess. They do not run. They do not hide. They embrace what we are."

Barry felt his stomach churn.

"You've seen their work," Sable continued. "You know their mark."

The Calendar-like murders.

Barry's blood ran cold. "Who?"

Sable's lips curled into something resembling a smile. "He calls himself Fletcher now. But he has had many names."

The fire crackled.

The shadows seemed to stretch.

Barry's grip tightened on the table, knuckles white.

Fletcher.

That name. That thing.

His mind recoiled, a flood of memories crashing down—Fletcher's whispers, the impossible knowledge, the way he slipped through reality like a shadow that did not belong.

And now, this.

A faction of mutants embracing the hunt.

A new Calendar Killer.

A war on the horizon.

And Barry, trapped between it all.

Sable's voice dropped to a whisper, but it cut deep.

"You cannot stop what is coming, wolf. The question is... which side will you stand on when the blood begins to spill?"

The fire flickered low, casting grotesque shadows along the twisted shapes of the Forgotten. Their faces—some barely human, others distorted by mutations that seemed more curse than gift—watched Barry and Lillian in silence.

The air was too thick, too still. As if the forest itself was holding its breath.

Sable's words still hung in the air like smoke.

"Which side will you stand on when the blood begins to spill?"

Barry's jaw tightened. He felt it again—that gnawing sense of inevitability. As if he wasn't just walking into this war but being dragged into it by the thing inside him.

The wolf. The Calendar.

The parts of himself he could never outrun.

But now… now there was Fletcher.

A name. A monster. A shadow that moved like smoke and spoke like he already knew the ending to Barry's story.

Barry's voice broke the silence. "This faction—the ones following Fletcher—how many of them are there?"

Sable's gaze didn't waver. "Enough."

Lillian's hand hovered near her knife. "Enough for what?"

Sable tilted their head slightly, eyes reflecting the dying fire's light like a predator's. "Enough to tear Yuccavale apart."

Barry's stomach twisted.

"They don't run from the CPG anymore," Sable continued. "They hunt them. They don't hide their mutations—they wear them like armor."

Barry clenched his fists beneath the table. "Why would they do that? They know what'll happen if the CPG finds out."

Sable's voice darkened. "Because they want the CPG to come. They want blood. Chaos."

The shadows around the fire seemed to pulse—like the very words Sable spoke had weight, pressing against the air.

Barry thought of the mutilated bodies. The marks carved into flesh, so precise, so personal.

They weren't just kills.

They were messages.

He exhaled through his nose. "Fletcher's leading them."

It wasn't a question.

Sable's thin smile returned. "He is… more than a leader. He is an idea. And ideas spread faster than fire."

Barry's skin crawled.

Fletcher wasn't just killing—he was recruiting.

This wasn't about hiding in the shadows.

This was about burning the world down.

Later, after the fire had burned down to glowing embers, Barry stood at the edge of the Forgotten's encampment. The forest beyond seemed even darker now, as though the night had grown teeth.

Lillian was quiet beside him, but Barry could feel the tension in her every breath.

Finally, she spoke. "What are we going to do?"

Barry didn't answer right away. His mind was a storm—Fletcher's voice still echoing, the Calendar's shadow breathing down his neck.

He thought about Samuel. About Helena. About how close they both were to figuring him out.

And now this—a war brewing just beyond Yuccavale's borders.

He couldn't stop thinking about what Sable had said.

"Which side will you stand on?"

Barry knew what the Forgotten saw when they looked at him.

A wolf in a man's skin.

A killer pretending to be a sheriff.

The Calendar hiding behind a badge.

What would happen when the war started?

When blood spilled into the streets and the lines between hunter and prey blurred—would they still see Barry the man?

Or would they finally see the beast underneath?

Lillian's voice cut through the silence again, softer this time. "Barry… I know this is more than just stopping Fletcher. This is about you too, isn't it?"

Barry's jaw clenched.

She didn't know.

Not yet.

But she would.

If Fletcher had his way, if Helena kept digging, if Samuel finally put the pieces together—they'd all know.

And when they did…

Would they stand beside him?

Or would they run?

The truth gnawed at him, a rotting fear that tasted too much like blood.

Because in his heart, Barry already knew the answer.

When they finally saw the monster behind the man…

They'd never stand beside him again.

Meanwhile, The CPG didn't arrive with fanfare. They never did. They came like the cold creeping in before a storm—silent, slow, and impossible to ignore.

Barry had been sheriff long enough to know when a town was holding its breath. Yuccavale, usually bustling even in the dead of winter, now felt… wrong. The streets weren't empty, but they were quieter. Conversations ended when strangers walked by. Doors locked just a little earlier.

It was the kind of fear that didn't show itself in screams but in silence.

And the CPG thrived in silence.

Barry watched from his office window as they patrolled the streets in perfect formation—dark uniforms, rifles strapped to their backs, their polished boots leaving no trace in the dirt.

Captain Helena Stone led them, her presence as sharp as the blade she wore at her hip.

She was a woman of precision. Everything about her—her stance, her expression, even the way she looked at people—was calculated. Cold.

She didn't see Yuccavale the way its people did. She saw it as a hunting ground.

And Barry was the wolf in its center.

His hand curled into a fist against the windowsill. The CPG didn't just kill mutants. They eradicated them. Like a sickness that needed to be burned out before it spread.

Barry wasn't naive. He knew what he was.

And he knew what they would do to him if they found out.

A knock at the door made his pulse jump.

Samuel stepped inside, his face tight. "They're asking questions."

Barry exhaled slowly, turning away from the window. "Who?"

Samuel's jaw tensed. "Stone."

Of course.

Barry forced himself to stay still. "What does she want?"

Samuel hesitated before answering. "She's looking for mutants."

Barry could almost hear the unspoken words.

She's looking for you.

It wasn't long before Stone made her way to the sheriff's office.

She stepped inside without knocking, boots clicking against the wooden floor. She didn't sit, didn't waste time on pleasantries.

She simply looked at Barry. Studied him.

"Sheriff Leighton."

Barry met her gaze, forcing himself to remain still. "Captain Stone."

She tilted her head slightly. "This is a small town."

Barry kept his expression neutral. "That's what they say."

Stone didn't smile. She took slow steps around the office, her gloved fingers grazing the edges of his desk. She wasn't looking for anything in particular—just looking.

"You've been sheriff for a while now, haven't you?"

Barry nodded once. "Three years."

"Three years," she repeated, like she was testing the words. "And in those three years, have you had any… mutant problems?"

Barry's grip on his desk tightened. He forced himself to shake his head. "No."

Stone's lips pressed together in something that wasn't quite disappointment. "Strange. We've received reports of heightened mutant activity in the region."

Barry shrugged. "Not from Yuccavale."

A pause.

Then—"We found a body last night."

Barry felt his stomach twist. He kept his expression blank. "That so?"

Stone nodded, watching him closely. "Torn apart. Almost ritualistic. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

Barry shook his head, but the weight of her stare made his skin itch.

She knew.

Or at least, she suspected.

Stone leaned forward slightly. "Mutants can be unpredictable, Sheriff Leighton. They blend in. Sometimes, they don't even know what they are until it's too late."

Barry didn't blink.

Stone smiled—thin, sharp. "Let's hope we don't have any of those hiding in Yuccavale."

And just like that, she turned and left. Barry let out a slow breath. The hunt had begun.