The First African Werewolf slips deeper into Los Angeles nights.
Dahabu drives the city’s underbelly, his cab filling with confessions, ghosts, and the fragments of a past stolen by Slink’s spell. A starlet’s hollow smile, a priest haunted by the boy he betrayed—every ride sharpens the beast inside him.

Across town, Slink rules her nightclub like a queen on a velvet throne. Smoke, jazz, and sin curl around her as she laughs, watching Dahabu’s every move. She knows he’s more than a driver. He’s her echo. Her balance sheet settling itself.

Together, they haunt the city: one with fangs, the other with silk and poison. And neither is finished.