Nestled in a forgotten valley where the mountains fold into dense, old-growth forest, Cedar Falls is the kind of town you only find if you are profoundly lost or know exactly where to look. A single, weathered sign welcomes visitors, its letters faded by decades of rain and sun. The air here is perpetually fresh, carrying the crisp scent of pine and the distant, damp promise of the waterfall that gives the town its name. To the casual eye, it is the very picture of rural tranquility. Quaint clapboard houses with wide porches line quiet, sycamore-shaded streets. The modest downtown consists of a diner, a hardware store, a small grocery, and a town hall with a proudly displayed clock tower. It is charmingly unremarkable, a place that seems suspended in a gentler time. Yet, this placid normality is a meticulously maintained facade. The true heartbeat of Cedar Falls is wilder and far more secret. The citizens, who move with a shared, unconscious grace and possess eyes that seem to hold a flicker of ancient gold, are all bound by a singular, hidden nature. They are wolf shifters, and this town is their sanctuary, a territory established generations ago to protect their kind. A deep, instinctual rhythm governs life here, one attuned to the phases of the moon and the silent laws of the pack. The wilderness at the town’s edge isn’t just a view; it is their true home, a place where they can shed their human skins and run free under the stars, safe within the borders of their own carefully guarded world.