Chapter Text
In a small house on the outskirts of an unremarkable town in Scotland, six people had gathered around the kitchen table, laughing and shouting every time someone threw a "+4" Uno card on the table.
No one was looking out the window.
John kept his cards close to his chest, away from Kirsty, who would occasionally lean too much to the right and try to sneak a glance. The girl would pout and smile when caught, then lean a bit to the left to look at her brother's cards instead.
An old chandelier hung low above the table, casting warm light around the cramped room. The lace curtains were billowing as fresh air came into the kitchen through half-open windows.
They played for a while, until the pack's Alpha—Nathan—scrubbed his five‑o'clock shadow and glanced up at the clock hanging above John's head.
"Okay, munchkins," he said, smoothing back his red hair. "It's almost midnight. Time for bed."
Kirsty and Ewan glanced at each other, then the table. A pile of Uno cards sat high in the centre, the top one being a red seven.
"But we get to finish the round, aye?" Ewan asked, bending the five cards that were still clenched in his hand.
He was already wearing his pyjamas and his ginger hair was pushed back by a hairband he had borrowed from his sister. The boy had inherited his dad's red hair, but Kirsty was dark‑haired like the rest of the MacTavishes.
"Sure." Nathan smiled. "But then it's bedtime."
"I'll make it easier for ye, wee yins," John's mum said from her seat at the head of the table.
She put her last card down, making everyone groan and roll their eyes.
John grinned, threw his cards on the table and stretched his arms above his head.
Kirsty yawned, getting off her chair. She hugged John goodnight, high‑fived her auntie Jean and followed her brother and dad into the living room and up the stairs.
When the three of them disappeared around the corner, Jean exchanged a look with John, then took a stack of cards from the side table and started shuffling. He pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his jeans pocket, lit one up and slid the pack to his mum, who caught it with practised ease.
On his way back to the kitchen, Nathan swiped a bowl from the coffee table in the living room. It was full of colourful glass gems that they used as poker chips. He dropped into the chair next to John and put the bowl in the middle of the table.
"Ye want the ceiling to turn brown?" His gaze landed on the cigarette in John's hand.
Jean stopped shuffling and slapped his shoulder lightly. "Dinni fash. It's gettin' a fresh coat of paint soon anyway."
John gave his brother a smile.
Nathan sighed. "Go fetch an ashtray, ye barbarian."
John stood up and walked to the kitchen sink, unhurried, as his mum started to redistribute glass gems around the table and his sister dealt cards. He ashed his cigarette into the drain, then sat down on his haunches and opened one of the cupboards.
"Where the fuck is it, then?" he asked, raising his voice a little.
"The kitchen window," came his mum's voice.
John closed the cupboard and turned his attention to the windowsill. Sure enough, a white ceramic ashtray stood behind a lace curtain.
He pulled the curtain aside and reached for it, the cigarette hanging from his mouth, then froze.
Three figures were moving in their back garden.