"I'm not letting you go in there alone."

  Peter's voice echoed against the quiet of the forest-lined road. The cruiser sat idling behind them, headlights off, cloaked in shadow. They stood just past the border into Fariesburg, the sky above an overcast gray, like the world itself was holding its breath.

  "I'm not going alone," Red said, arms crossed. "You're coming with me."

  "That's not what I mean and you know it." Peter's jaw tightened. "This is reckless. We should loop in Hunter or Hook. Let them clear the building, maybe send a team—"

  "You think whoever sent that box is going to talk if a SWAT team rolls in?" she snapped. "Come on, Pan. You saw what they gave us. They know things no one else should. Whoever sent that message wants me there. Just me."

  Peter exhaled hard, dragging a hand through his hair. "And what if it's a trap? What if this is just another game the Wolf's playing?"

  Red stepped closer, her voice low but steady. "Then it's a good thing I brought someone to keep me safe."

  That made Peter freeze.

  His eyes flicked to her, and for a second, he forgot how to speak.

  "You mean me?" he said, awkward.

  Red raised an eyebrow. "No, the sheep in the back seat. Yes, you."

  Peter looked away quickly, trying to mask the color creeping into his face. "Still doesn't mean this is a good idea."

  Red reached into her coat and pulled out the note again, reading the words for the tenth time.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  Who's afraid of the Big Bad Wolf? Certainly not I.

  The answers you seek aren't in StoreyBrook... but in Fariesburg.

  Follow the coordinates to learn more.

  "I'm going," she said quietly. "With or without you."

  Peter groaned. "You're the worst."

  "And you're still following me."

  He didn't deny it.

  The coordinates led them to the edge of Fariesburg's old industrial district—a maze of rusted fences, broken windows, and crumbling warehouses left behind by better days.

  They parked a few blocks away and approached on foot, Peter sweeping his flashlight over the building as they stepped through a broken gate.

  The warehouse looked abandoned: steel walls streaked with grime, a collapsed loading dock, shattered floodlights hanging like broken limbs.

  Red led the way to a side door, its padlock already cut.

  Peter hesitated. "You sure about this?"

  Red didn't answer. She pushed the door open and stepped inside.

  The interior was dark—too dark.

  Then, with a low hum, overhead lights flickered on one by one, buzzing to life in a trail that illuminated the center of the warehouse floor.

  There, surrounded by shadows and crates, stood a figure in a long coat and wide-brimmed hat, their face obscured beneath a veil of black mesh.

  Red froze.

  The figure didn't move.

  But then, from speakers hidden somewhere above, came a voice—distorted, but clear.

  Female. Smooth. Measured.

  "Red Hood," the voice said. "I heard you're looking for the Wolf."

  Peter stepped forward, drawing his weapon but not raising it yet. "Who are you?"

  The figure's head tilted slightly.

  "Some call me the Fairy Godmother."

  Red's pulse kicked up.

  "I thought you were a myth," she said.

  The voice chuckled softly. "That's the point of fairy tales, isn't it? To hide the truth in something that sounds like fiction."

  Peter narrowed his eyes. "Why bring us here?"

  "Because," the Fairy Godmother replied, "you've stepped into a story you don't understand. And the Wolf? He's just the prologue."

  The lights buzzed louder. The shadows seemed to shift.

  Red stood her ground.

  "Then tell me," she said. "Tell me the real story."

  A pause.

  And then—

  "I will. But not here."

  "This was just the invitation."

  The figure stepped back into the darkness.

  The lights above began to shut off—one by one.

  Until there was only darkness.