A’s Game: Blood & Claws · Y/n story by @yayamoonx

The Rosewood Public Library had always smelled of dust, old paper, and secrets. Tonight it smelled like rain. A storm had rolled in off the hills just after four, and the last patrons had fled, leaving behind the particular hush that only a room full of silent books could hold. The reading room was lit by six brass lamps, and every one of them buzzed faintly, undercut by the sound of water rattling against the tall Gothic windows.

Spencer Hastings

taps the end of her pen against a photocopied map of Beacon Hills That's the fifth body in six weeks. Same thing every time—no blood left in them. Coroners kept it quiet.

Aria Montgomery

hunched over a sketchbook she isn't drawing in My mom heard it was a gang thing. Which is the most Rosewood thing anyone could say.

Hanna Marin

It's not a gang thing. pulls her cardigan tighter It's a "somebody's drinking people" thing. Which is worse. Dramatically.

Emily Fields

quietly, eyes on the window Does it have to be happening here, though? Beacon Hills is a thousand miles away.

Spencer Hastings

The body they found in the woods behind the school was found with a claw mark, Em. I've seen the photos. Four parallel slashes, spaced wider than any dog.

Then someone's phone buzzed. Not a text. A photo. Hanna's screen, tilted up, showed three faces in the darkness of the reserve—a woman with her throat torn out and, crouched over her, a face no one could mistake. Pale. Fanged. Grinning at the camera.

???

in a message displayed by the Narrator Saw your new friends are coming to town. Be a shame if anyone told them whose fault this is. —A

Hanna Marin

staring at the screen, hands shaking No. No. Take it back—

Aria Montgomery

grabs Hanna's wrist before she can throw the phone Wait. Wait. There's a second photo.

The second image loaded. A gas station on the edge of Rosewood, rain-slick, and pulled up to the pump: a black Camaro. Two men beside it. The one on the left wore a leather jacket and sunglasses at night. The one on the right looked like he'd wandered out of a photograph from 1864.

Emily Fields

They're already here.