***
The warehouse appears just as Amos described it.
The structure rises from the frozen ground like a relic of another era, its metal side beams streaked with rust and decay. The surrounding industrial park is nearly deserted, the few remaining buildings little more than hollow shells of forgotten businesses.
Our vehicles stop several hundred meters away from the property.
The night is still as we step out, the crunch of snow beneath our boots the only sound breaking the silence.
Something about the place feels heavy and wrong immediately.
Damian moves beside me, his sharp gaze scanning the dark building.
“It’s too quiet out here. Unsettlingly so,” he murmurs.
I nod slightly. The air carries a faint scent that makes my wolf restless.
Demons.
Conan lowers the thermal scanner in his hands after a moment. “There are people inside,” he says quietly. “More than a dozen heat signatures.”
James glances toward the building. “That’s a lot of guards for an abandoned warehouse.”
My instincts sharpen immediately. “Stay alert,” I tell the others as we approach the building carefully, spreading out as we move.
The side entrance hangs slightly ajar, its rusted hinges creaking faintly when Dedrick pushes the door open. Darkness greets us inside.
Rows of wooden crates fill the massive interior of the warehouse, stacked neatly from floor to ceiling. Damian pries open the nearest crate, finding military-grade rifles inside.
Another crate holds suppressor cuffs identical to the ones used on Annika, causing anger to coil slowly through my chest.
“So it’s real,” Conan mutters.
But before anyone can say anything else, the overhead lights snap on.
Blinding white light floods the warehouse, forcing several of us to shield our eyes. Behind us, the metal doors slam shut with a thunderous crash. A slow clap echoes from above, prompting us all to look up.
A metal catwalk runs along the upper wall of the warehouse, and standing there is Marcus Hale, with dark disheveled hair and darker eyes. He leans casually against the railing, applauding slowly as a smug smile spreads across his face.
“I was beginning to wonder when the wolves would show up,” he calls down.
Movement stirs in the shadows between the crates. Men step forward into the light. At first glance, they appear human, but when they lift their heads, their eyes reveal the truth.
Black.
Completely black.
Possessed.
A chilling growl ripples through the room as demons begin crawling down the concrete walls behind them, their twisted forms emerging from the darkness.
Realization hits all of us at the same time.
“It’s a trap!” Conan growls.
Marcus’s smile widens. “Exactly.”
“Don’t let the weapons touch you!” I roar out as the attack begins instantly.
