Greyfriars Estate was supposed to be empty.
Its tower blocks stand black against the city skyline, their windows boarded, their stairwells rotting, their courtyards stained by years of neglect. To the developers preparing to demolish it, Greyfriars is nothing more than dead concrete, wasted land, and one final obstacle before profit. To the last residents who remember what it once was, the estate is something far more painful: a home deliberately abandoned, stripped of dignity, and left to decay until no one cared what happened inside its walls.
When a group of business associates arrive for a final inspection, they expect vandalism, angry tenants, and the usual signs of urban ruin. They do not expect the blood in the passageways. They do not expect the claw marks above the lights. They do not expect the voices whispering through sealed flats, the breathing behind the walls, or the thing watching them from the upper walkways.
Because Greyfriars is not empty.
A pack lives in the estate.
They move through service tunnels, lift shafts, boarded flats, and broken stairwells. They know every blind corner, every locked door, every place where the city stopped looking. They are not mindless beasts from old woodland tales. They have learned to hunt where people vanish unnoticed. They have learned that concrete can hide hunger better than trees.
As night falls, the inspection becomes a slaughter. The business associates are trapped inside a maze of towers and tunnels, hunted by creatures that seem to know their names, their sins, and the buried crimes that brought them there. Beneath the estate lies a secret older and darker than any redevelopment plan, a history of missing people, hidden experiments, and a girl who disappeared decades earlier but never truly left.
The city forgot Greyfriars.
The pack did not.
And now the estate is ready to collect its debts.