I Rejected My Obsessive Werebeast novel Chapter 61

Chapter 61

Aurora’s POV

I spread my notebook open on the coffee table the second I got home.

The cage. The corridor. The numbered iron doors. The chains scraping against stone. I sketched it all from memory, filling in the details as they came back to me until I could see the layout again.

Silas walked in from the kitchen with a mug of tea and set it down next to my hand. He leaned over my shoulder, glanced at the sketch, and went still.

“I know this place,” he said.

I looked up. “You do?”

“Not the part you’ve been to. The part underneath.” He straightened up, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s not on any official map. It’s the underground level – where they keep the ones that don’t make it to the arena. People on the outside don’t get in.”

“How do you know about it?”

He hesitated. “There’s a werebeast at the racetrack. Used to work at the arena before he got out. Mentioned a few things over drinks. Not much, but enough.”

He sat down next to me on the couch, reached for my pen, and drew a small circle at the top of the staircase in my sketch.

“There should be a security gate here,” he said. “Keycard access. Internal

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only. If you want to get down there, you need one of those.”

I stared at the circle he’d drawn. It sat right where the stairs met the corridor – the chokepoint. The place where someone would be stopped before they saw anything.

“Do you have any way of getting one?” I asked.

Silas tapped the pen against his knee, thinking. “The werebeast I just said maybe have an idea. He used to do security at the arena. He’s working equipment maintenance at the racetrack now. I could ask him still has an old card, or at least knows how the system works.”

–

see if he

He set the pen down. “Don’t get your hopes up though,” he added. “Might not work out.”

I nodded, “Let’s try anyway. It’s better than me trying to break in alone.”

The next day I was at my desk sorting through files when my phone buzzed.

Silas: Got ahold of him. Convenience store next to the racetrack, tonight.

I typed back: OK. What should I bring?

Silas: Nothing. Let me talk first. If he’s willing to help, I’ll call you over.

I put the phone down and went back to my files. But I kept checking the time.

An hour before closing, another message came through.

Silas: He’s in. But there’s a condition.

Me: What kind?

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Silas: His daughter works in the arena’s underground level. Cleaning staff. She went in three days ago and hasn’t come out since. He wants to know if she’s still alive. If you go down there, can you find her – or at least confirm she’s okay?

I stared at the screen. Three days. A father who hadn’t heard from his daughter in three days, and the only thing he could do was wait and hope

So I typed two words.

Me: I’ll do it.

The convenience store was small, fluorescent–lit, and smelled like instant noodles and floor cleaner.

Silas stood by the snack aisle, pretending to read the back of a chip bag. He gave me a small nod toward the door.

I walked out.

A man was leaning against the wall outside, smoking. Old jacket, worn at the elbows. He looked up when he saw me, gave a single nod.

No small talk. No pleasantries.

“My daughter’s name is Freya,” he said. His voice was rough, like he hadn’t spoken in a while. “Leopard werebeast. She works cleaning on sublevel two. She went in three days ago. Hasn’t come out since.”

He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a card. The plastic was old, the edges scuffed white from use.

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