7:19 A.M. – MONDAY
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The world didn’t end. But it shifted.
Light spilt through blackout curtains that couldn’t quite keep dawn out. Smoke still clung to the floor. The scent of s**x, sweat, blood, liquor, and Lycans. A lamp flickered. A girl whimpered in sleep. Another stirred and covered herself with the corner of a jacket that didn’t belong to her. Empty beer bottles lie like bodies. Fur clung to the floor. One shoe hung from the ceiling fan. The house was a f.ucking disaster. Not ruined. Just… used. Lived like a battlefield. Loved like a war. The Den still reeked of beer, smoke, s**x, and Lycan musk, sacred scents in these walls. But the silence was creeping back in, settling like dust. And then… a low groan. The first sound upstairs. Victor stirred first. Silent. Stiff. Still naked
