Doesn’t matter that I’m a Lone Wolf with a temper and a past no one dares ask about.
Doesn’t matter that half my residents are one magical misfire or bad moon away from becoming front-page tabloid fodder.
Doesn’t matter that the rest of the world barely remembers Arrhythmia, Texas exists.
This town is mine.
Every inch of it.
The people, the land, the weird little crossroads where ley lines hum and ghosts sometimes dance at midnight.
They’re mine to watch over.
Mine to fight for.
Mine to keep safe.
They anchor my Wolf.Ground him.
When the darkness creeps too close, when the old rage rises, it’s this town—the porch lights left on, the scent of mesquite and magic in the air, the sound of kids laughing at the diner—that keeps me from going feral.
So when I got the call that a DPCA Special Agent was coming to “evaluate our viability,” I didn’t flinch.
Not on the outside, anyway.
I listened.I nodded.I hung up the phone.
Didn’t growl.Didn’t snap.
Didn’t punch a hole in the wall like I wanted to.
But inside?
My Wolf lost his goddamn mind.
Snarling.Howling.A wild, territorial fury rattling my bones.
Because I know whatevaluationreally means.
It means someone’s decided we might be a problem.A liability.
That we’re worth more dismantled than left to thrive.
And I’ve seen what happens when the government gets nervous about supernaturals.
They don’t ask twice.
They don’t care what we’ve built or how hard we’ve worked to make this strange, magical town into something good.
They’ll bulldoze it.
They’ll cage us, drug us, or worse—relocate us to some shithole like Fangborn Prison or worse—until there’s nothing left of the heart that makes Arrhythmia what it is.
So, no, I’m not flinching.
But I am watching.Waiting.Planning.
Because if that agent comes in here and thinks they can break apart what we’ve made?
