The Apocalyptic Queen's Werewolf Journey (Thora and Darius) novel Chapter 481

But the moment they raised their guns, before their fingers could even squeeze the triggers...

A red dot swept across. One man dropped like a puppet with its strings cut, hitting the ground with a heavy thud.

The sudden death left the second man frozen for half a second, but that fraction of a heartbeat was all it took. Another piercing shot rang out, punching a clean hole through his forehead. He crumpled instantly.

Only then did the thief syndicate realize what had happened—they'd been sniped.

Two men. One hit dead center between the eyes. The other through the temple. Both were killed with a single round.

There was a sniper out there. And they hadn't sensed a thing.

Greywolf's people went on high alert just as fast.

Lance knew immediately who had pulled the trigger—no one besides the little girl who was always glued to Thora's side had that kind of long-range precision. Greywolf had snipers of their own, but they were rarely deployed and would never have opened fire in a situation like this.

Far away, Shirley had a lollipop clamped between her teeth, one eye pressed to the scope of her rifle. She casually drifted the red dot over to Thora and let it dance across her for a brief second—her way of saying hello.

Thora hadn't moved an inch from her original position. The corner of her lips lifted ever so slightly. "I'm just here to watch. Carry on."

She meant it. She was only here to observe, not to get involved. But now that she was here, she wasn't about to leave halfway through.

Her stance was crystal clear—no participation, no interference. And the sniper who had just spoken with bullets was obviously one of hers.

The thief syndicate didn't dare to make another careless move. No one knew where the next round would come from.

Especially now. If they made an enemy of Thora on top of everything else, they'd be fighting on two fronts—and they were already struggling to hold their own against Greywolf. Walking away in one piece was far from guaranteed.

So they made the smart call and abandoned any plans to deal with the so-called "spectator," turning their full attention to Greywolf.

Both Frost and Sierra knew that Thora always had a world-class sniper at her side.

And unlike Frost, Sierra had absolutely no desire to make an enemy of Thora.

She didn't want Frost picking a fight with Thora either.

Lance looked toward Thora with a faint smile, his lips moving without making a sound.

But Thora read every word from his lips. "Since you're my audience, let me give you a show worth watching."

With that, he raised one hand and flashed Thora another smile. The instant that hand came down, it became a command.

Every member of Greywolf exploded into motion without a second's warning. Both sides opened fire simultaneously.

The thief syndicate fought the way they always did—swarming in waves, relying on sheer, overwhelming violence to crush their opponents.

Their goal was singular and simple—slaughter.

Greywolf's mercenaries, on the other hand, operated under a disciplined combat framework. Every member had a defined role and seamless coordination. When to push, when to hold—everything moved like clockwork.

The difference between the two sides had never been more obvious.

The youngest-looking member of Greywolf—barely more than a boy—was a killer through and through. Anyone he got his hands on had their heart ripped clean from their chest. The still-beating organs pulsed red in his grip as the stench of blood saturated the air.

Sharkie's raw power was staggering, capable of tearing a man apart with his bare hands.

Every member of Greywolf had a specialty, and right now, on this battlefield, each one was performing at the absolute peak of their craft.

Lance never moved from where he stood. Not once. Even in the middle of the chaos and carnage, not a single person managed to so much as graze him. His eyes remained locked on Thora the entire time, the corner of his mouth lifted in a quiet smile. Then, with unhurried grace, he lowered himself into an elegant bow—the kind a gentleman gives when the curtain falls.

Something flickered in Thora's gaze. She knew the fight was about to end.

Sure enough, the moment Lance completed his bow, he turned slowly and let a single, weightless sentence drift from his lips. "That's a wrap."