Freya held tightly to Draven as the motorcycle sped down the road, her heart pounding with a mix of nervousness and excitement. The wind whipped past her, carrying with it the faint smell of rain and the distant hum of the bustling city. As they approached the familiar neighborhood, the energy around them seemed to shift.

The streets here weren’t like the polished avenues near the pack house. The roads were uneven, the sidewalks cracked and littered with debris. The houses stood in close quarters, weathered and faded, with peeling paint and rusted gates. People lingered on corners, their eyes wary, as though watching for trouble. Children darted in and...