I remember the lion.

Not the way it attacked me—but the way it carried me, like I was its cub, through the Ghanaian brush to where Calypso waited. She was just a girl then, barefoot, holding a vial of black liquid that smelled like earth and blood. She saved me. The serum changed me—my senses sharpened, my strength surged, my body adapted like an animal’s. But my father? He killed the lion. Said it was weakness to be saved by a beast.

I left that day. Built a sanctuary. Hunted men who hurt the helpless.

Now, sixteen years later, I’m in London. Dmitri’s birthday. We haven’t spoken in years. He’s different—smoother, colder. Smiles too perfectly.

Then the mercenaries come.

Smoke bombs, silenced rifles, tactical precision. They take him in seconds. I chase, but they vanish.

I call Nikolai. He laughs. 'Pay the ransom? He’s weak. Let him die.'

But I know the truth—he wants this. He’s testing us.

So I find Calypso. She’s a lawyer now. Sharp suit, sharper tongue. 'You look like hell,' she says.

'I need your help,' I tell her. 'They took Dmitri.'

She studies me, then pulls out a tarot card—the same one she left behind all those years ago. 'The Hanged Man,' she whispers. 'Sacrifice. Redemption. Or the end of the hunter.'

She looks up. 'If we do this, there’s no going back.'

I clench my fists. My claws press against my palms.

'We’re already past that.'