"Werewolf!" shouts the lead zhirel, from where she's fighting with Faith. She's good, to have lasted this long against her; the brief distraction costs her her footing, and very nearly that broken jaw.

The guards, though, react to that. Three bring out nightsticks, reversing the grips and shucking the outer black covering to reveal gleaming silver. A fourth reaches for his walkie-talkie (call it in, standard procedure), and drops his hand with a muttered curse.