My feet left the concrete. The world narrowed to the space between me and Crusher’s surprised face. His plasma rifle came up, a blur of polished black, and spat a glob of white-hot energy that seared the air where my head had been a millisecond before.

  I landed on him like a missile made of teeth and rage. My weight and momentum sent us staggering back. I wrenched the rifle from his grip and flung it away. It skittered across the floor, spinning into the darkness. His biggest threat was gone.

  He didn’t hesitate. His massive hand snatched for my throat, but I was faster. I twisted away, driving an elbow into his exposed side. It connected with a dull thud that jarred my entire arm, but Crusher only grunted, his muscles absorbing the blow like a stone wall.

  “Not bad,” he snarled, swinging a haymaker that I narrowly ducked under.

  He was a mountain of meat, slow but unstoppable. His fist came around, not fast, but with the weight of a collapsing building. I ducked, felt the wind of it stir my fur, and heard the concrete floor behind me crack with a sound like a gunshot. I stayed close, inside his reach, my claws leaving shallow red lines across his reinforced jacket.

  His fist came at me, big and solid as a cinder block.

  I twisted sideways—too slow. The blow caught my shoulder and sent me spinning. White-hot pain shot down my arm, and the world tilted. My ears rang. The coppery taste of blood filled my mouth.

  Brick Crusher didn’t slow down. Didn’t blink. He came at me again, and this time I rolled under his swing, came up near a row of cooling vents. The air smelled like hot copper and burnt insulation.

  “Are you getting slow, slow poke?” He grinned, cracking his knuckles. Each pop sounded like breaking wood.

  I couldn’t answer. Breathing took too much energy.

  This wasn’t the fight we’d had before—the one where I’d dodged and quipped and barely escaped. This was different. He moved faster now, hit harder. Every punch carried the weight of someone who’d stopped playing around.

  He grabbed a piece of twisted rebar from the floor and hurled it. I ducked. The metal clattered against a control panel behind me, sparks raining down like angry fireflies.

  My legs burned. My ribs ached where he’d connected earlier—three times? Four? I’d lost count.

  I charged him, throwing everything I had into a right hook. Connected with his jaw. His head snapped to the side.

  He laughed.

  “That it?”

  My knuckles throbbed. His face didn’t even bruise. Great. I just punched a brick wall with a pulse.

  He swung again—this time I saw it coming, dropped low, tried to sweep his legs. Like kicking a fire hydrant. He didn’t budge. His hand shot out, caught my wrist, twisted. Pain exploded up my arm. He yanked me forward and slammed me into the nearest surface.

  The control panel. The one we’d damaged during this fight, exposed wiring hanging out like guts.

  My spine hit metal. Buttons and switches dug into my ribs. His other hand found my throat, squeezed. The room dimmed at the edges. I clawed at his fingers—might as well have been clawing stone.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  “Last chance expired.”

  I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. The pressure built behind my eyes, a roaring in my ears drowning out everything except the sick certainty—this was it. This was how it ended. Crushed against a half-dead console in some corporate hellhole.

  His fist drew back. Massive. Inevitable.

  Something inside me snapped.

  Not a conscious choice. Not even a thought. One second I was dying, the next—

  The wolf tore free.

  Not the measured shift I’d practiced with Handy. Not controlled. This was raw, primal, the monster I’d spent weeks trying to cage ripping through every lock I’d built.

  Strength flooded my limbs. My vision sharpened, colors bleeding into vivid clarity. Brick’s face—every pore, every bead of sweat—suddenly close enough to count.

  I shoved.

  The world slowed. My hands hit his chest, fingers extended, claws I didn’t remember growing sinking into fabric and flesh. He flew backward—actually flew—arms windmilling, face shocked for the first time since this started.

  He hit the exposed conduit we’d damaged earlier. The one sparking quietly in the background.

  Blue light erupted. Bright enough to hurt. The smell of ozone hit me first, sharp and chemical. Then the sound—a crack like lightning hitting too close, followed by a wet sizzle that made my stomach turn.

  Brick convulsed. Once. Twice. His mouth opened but nothing came out except a strangled wheeze.

  Then he stopped.

  Silence rushed in to fill the space his breathing had occupied seconds before.

  I stood there. Hands still extended. Heart hammering so hard it hurt.

  He didn’t move.

  The burnt smell got worse. Smoke curled up from where his back touched the conduit, thin and gray.

  “No…”

  My voice came out wrong. Guttural. Half-growl.

  He didn’t.

  “Oh no.”

  Nothing still. His chest didn’t rise. His eyes stared at something past the ceiling, past everything.

  Oh god.

  Oh god oh god oh god—

  The wolf receded like a wave pulling off the beach, taking all its borrowed strength with it. My knees buckled. I caught myself on the same panel that had almost been my coffin, fingers trembling against cracked plastic.

  He was dead.

  I’d killed him.

  The words wouldn’t stick. Kept sliding off my brain, too big, too impossible. People didn’t just—I didn’t—

  But there he was. Still. So completely, utterly still.

  My stomach heaved. I turned away, doubled over, but nothing came up except dry retching and the taste of copper.

  This wasn’t supposed to happen. The plan was to get in, get the data, get out. Maybe fight a little if we had to, but—

  Not this. Never this.

  The tunnel. It was supposed to be the tunnel. Not me. Not my hands.

  My hands shook. Still had claws. I watched them retract, slow and surreal, disappearing back under skin and normalcy like they’d never existed.

  Except they had. And I’d used them.

  And now Brick Crusher—loud, arrogant, probably-had-a-family-somewhere Brick Crusher—was cooling on the floor because I’d panicked and let the monster win.

  The control panel behind me sparked. Once. Twice. Little pops of sound in the crushing quiet.

  I should run. Should move. Should do literally anything except stand here staring at what I’d done.

  But my legs wouldn’t work. My brain wouldn’t work. My gaze snapped to my hands. They were just hands again, pale and trembling. But I could still feel the claws. Feel them sink into him. I could have dodged. I could have found another way. But I didn’t. I pushed.

  The lights flickered. Somewhere distant, an alarm started wailing. Probably triggered by the power surge.

  I made myself take a step. Another. Walked past him without looking down. If I looked down I’d break completely, shatter into pieces too small to put together again.

  The hallway stretched ahead. Empty. Clinical. Like nothing had happened thirty feet away.

  My chest ached. Not from the hits—from something deeper. Something that wouldn’t heal.

  I’d won the fight, but I lost everything.