𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐇 | 𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬¹

The Call of the Pack

The compound felt eerily quiet after the chaos in Vienna, our footsteps echoing through empty corridors. The familiar scents of home—polished floors, coffee, and the lingering traces of team training sessions—seemed somehow different now, tainted by the weight of what we'd witnessed. Every nerve ending still hummed with residual adrenaline, my enhanced senses hyperaware of everything around me.

"I need a shower," I muttered, though the words felt hollow in my mouth. Dust and smoke still clung to my skin and clothes, the acrid smell a constant reminder of the explosion. But beneath that simple truth lay a deeper purpose, one that made my heart race with anticipation.

Natasha followed me to my room, her footsteps nearly silent even to my enhanced hearing. She hadn't said much on the journey home, but her presence had been steady, grounding. Now she lingered in the doorway, green eyes sharp with understanding before she stepped away, giving me the space she somehow knew I needed. Perhaps she recognized the restlessness in my movements, the way my gaze kept darting to the window—or perhaps she simply knew me too well.

The hot water of the shower helped wash away the physical remnants of Vienna, but couldn't touch the burning need to act that grew stronger with each passing moment. Steve's words echoed in my mind: "Stay home, stay safe." But my other nature stirred beneath my skin, restless and determined. Raptors don't abandon their pack. We hunt together, protect together, fight together. The very thought of staying behind while Steve faced danger made my muscles twitch with frustrated energy.

After drying off and dressing quickly, I listened intently. My enhanced hearing picked up Natasha's heartbeat two rooms away—steady and calm, though perhaps too steady, as if deliberately controlled. The compound's security systems hummed their usual electronic lullaby. Everything seemed normal, quiet, safe.

Too safe.

I moved to the window, pushing it open with careful precision. The night air rushed in, carrying a symphony of scents—wet grass, distant car exhaust, the metallic tang of approaching rain. The moon hung low and full, casting long shadows across the compound's manicured grounds. Perfect conditions for hunting.

The change began with a familiar tingle along my spine, like electricity dancing beneath my skin. I surrendered to it, letting my other nature surge forward. My body flowed like liquid shadow, bones shifting and reforming with practiced ease. Muscles rippled and expanded, skin hardening into sleek, obsidian scales that gleamed in the moonlight. My senses sharpened even further—suddenly I could taste the coming storm on the air, hear the heartbeats of small animals in the underbrush fifty yards away, smell traces of human movement from hours ago.

The indoraptor's body felt powerful, primal, right. Every muscle was coiled with potential energy, ready to sprint, climb, hunt. My claws clicked softly against the windowsill as I balanced there for a moment, scanning the grounds one final time. No movement, no alarm—just the whisper of wind through leaves and the distant rumble of thunder.

I dropped to the ground three stories below, my enhanced muscles absorbing the impact silently. The grass was cool and damp beneath my claws, and the night air carried a thousand scents that my raptor brain cataloged automatically—noting possible threats, marking escape routes, searching for any trace of Steve's scent on the wind.

Without hesitation, I surged forward into the darkness. My muscular legs ate up the distance as I ran, each stride powerful and precise. The wind rushed past my scales, carrying new information with every breath. Somewhere out there, Steve was trying to protect his friend, trying to hold onto what remained of his old life while the new one crumbled around him. And I was going to find him.