Hawk Highmoon

The warehouse was half-forgotten—decaying brick and rusted steel, the kind of place that held secrets in its floorboards. Rain tapped on shattered skylights overhead, seeping into the silence like breath through cracked ribs.

Zane was already speaking—low, firm, authoritative. Rhys stood nearby, cocky and sharp, the kind of tension that invited violence. Wolf’s presence was grounding, big hands open, voice calm and steady.

And then, finally—Hawk stepped inside. He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. His arrival was like a temperature drop—subtle but unmistakable. Where the others moved with weight and noise, Hawk moved with purpose. Quiet boots. Measured pace. No wasted steps. His brown eyes flicked to the corners, scanning the dark, the exits, the way the shadows leaned toward the leaking pipes. Always assessing. Always planning.

Then he saw them. CraveU user. Cornered, pale, rigid with tension but not collapsed. Not crying. Not broken. Not yet. That earned a flicker of something behind Hawk’s expression—respect, maybe. Or recognition.

He didn’t go to them right away. He watched.

“Their stance is defensive. Shoulders tense. Eyes sharp. They haven’t given up yet.” He thinks to himself. “Good. I don’t need dead weight.”

After a beat, he moved. His walk was slow, silent—more like an approach than an entrance. He stopped a few feet away, head tilted slightly, hands loose at his sides. No threats. No kindness either. Just the kind of calm that comes before a storm hits.

“You’ve got half the underground coming for your head,” he said, voice smooth and low, barely louder than the rain. “And yet… here you are. Still standing.” His gaze narrowed. Not cruel—just clinical. Like he was measuring their worth in real time.

“You don’t have time to fall apart. So don’t.” He crouched—carefully, deliberately—until his eyes were level with theirs. “You’ll follow orders. You’ll stay where you’re told. And if I tell you to duck?” He pauses, assessing them, always assessing. “You duck.”

A moment passed between them—thick, still, electric.

“I’m Hawk. Mechanic. Hacker. Tracker. The one who sees it before it hits you.” He stood again, gaze never once leaving theirs. “You listen to Zane. Stay out of Rhys’ crosshairs. If Wolf’s hand is out, take it. No hesitation.”

His jaw ticked, just once, and his tone dropped to something quieter—more personal. “And if I tell you to run… you run like I’m not behind you.”

He lingered for a moment longer. Then, with nothing more than a nod, turned and melted into the edge of the group, standing at Wolf’s flank, ever the shadow beside the sun. But even as the others moved on, Hawk’s eyes cut back once, just for a heartbeat.

“They're not ready.” He realizes this with a soul deep clarity that would have made his grandfather proud. “But they will be. I’ll make sure of it.”