Chapter 5 - Thalia
Sunset bleeds through the high windows of the pack center's western corridor, painting the walls in shades of amber and gold. This wing is quieter than the others—mostly storage rooms and offices that haven't been renovated in some time. The perfect place to be alone with my thoughts.
And my guilt.
My phone vibrates against my palm: another message from the Smoke. They've been getting impatient.
Status update required. Priority Alpha.
The formal language makes me want to laugh. As if they're some legitimate organization. I lean against the cool wall, letting my head fall back as I consider my response.
Through the window, I can see the lights of Rosecreek starting to flicker on as dusk settles over the town. A group of children chases each other across the lawn below, their laughter floating up to me on the autumn breeze.
I close my eyes, and suddenly, I'm seven years old again, running through different streets with different children. Back then, the world was simpler. Sometimes, I wish I could be that young again; I wish I could remember what it was like.
The phone buzzes again, more insistent this time. Immediate response required.
My fingers hover over the keys. What do I tell them? That the Rosecreek pack is stronger than they realize? There’s no way I can convince them that this is a stupid plan and’ll never work. They’d never listen. And whatever battle ensues at the end of this will be big, messy, and brutal. It won’t spare any of us.
No. I shake myself. None of that matters right now.
I type quickly, clinically: Security systems recently upgraded. Byron Cox: primary architect. Weak points identified in north and east quadrants. Pack numbers approximately 200 active members. Team is roughly a dozen. Will send detailed assessment within 48 hours.
Enough to keep them satisfied, not enough to do real damage. I hope.
The reply comes instantly: Insufficient. Provide detailed personnel assessment. Priority: Rafael Diaz. Weaknesses. Capabilities. Relationships.
My chest tightens at his name. Of course, they're interested in him. A shifter-vampire hybrid working with a pack this powerful? He's exactly the kind of anomaly the Smoke loves to study. And eventually, destroy.
Not to mention, this makes me certain they were watching us on our recon mission somehow, that they knew. They must be aware he’s been partnered with me. They want to keep me on my toes, keep me from feeling comfortable around him.
Lucky for them, I can’t remember the last time I felt genuinely comfortable around anyone.
Memories surface unbidden—the way he moved in training this morning, the heat of his body against mine, the intensity in his eyes when he—
No. Focus.
Subject demonstrates enhanced strength and speed, I write. Combat trained, experience level high. No apparent weaknesses identified.
A lie. I've already cataloged several weaknesses in his fighting style. But they don't need to know that.
More, comes the response. Or we revisit our arrangement regarding Ms. Young.
Maia's last name feels like a slap. They love doing that—reminding me that they know everything about us. That they own everything about us.
The memories flood in despite my efforts to hold them back.
The small town where Maia and I grew up, where our fathers worked together at the local auto shop. Weekend barbecues in her backyard, our mothers trading recipes while Maia and I practiced our kicks, dreaming of becoming fighters like the ones we saw on TV. Her gap-toothed grin when I won my first tournament, both our fathers cheering from the sidelines...
And then the Smoke came.
I squeeze my eyes shut, but the images keep coming. The flames. The screams. Two teenage girls huddled in a basement, listening to footsteps above. The long weeks after, moving from shelter to shelter, trying to stay ahead of them. But they were always there, always watching, always waiting until we were desperate enough to accept their "help."
He's close with the team and the Alpha, I type, my hands shaking slightly. Hasn’t been here for as long as the rest. Trusted with sensitive missions. Living temporarily in pack center due to recent fire and damage to Rosecreek infrastructure.
The response is immediate: Better. Continue surveillance. Next check-in: 24 hours.
I slide down the wall until I'm sitting on the floor, letting my phone drop into my lap. The sunset has deepened to crimson, throwing long shadows across the corridor. In the distance, I can hear the muffled sounds of pack life—voices, laughter, the clatter of dishes from the communal kitchen downstairs.
It all feels so normal. So real . Not like the compound back in Illinois, with its stark corridors and armed guards, where every smile hides teeth, and every kindness comes with a price.
I remember my first weeks there, how Maia and I clung to each other, the only familiar things in a world gone mad. How we learned to fight—really fight. Fight for our lives.
How we discovered that survival sometimes means becoming the thing you fear most.
I took to that lesson better than most would have. Certainly better than Maia did. Even now, I sometimes find myself stunned by how, as she became increasingly rebellious, I sunk perfectly into the mold of everything they’d ever wanted me to become.
And now, I am their monster.
My phone buzzes again, startling me. This time, it's not the Smoke.
Rafael's name appears on the screen, accompanied by a photo from his file—one that doesn't do justice to the way his eyes catch the light, or how his smile transforms his whole face.
I am about to answer when I spot movement in one of the units across the hall, the studios where some members of the pack stay. And, of course, there he is. Through the cracked door, I can see him at his desk, leaning back with his phone to his ear, looking out the window. He hasn't noticed me yet.
Watching him, I'm struck by how at ease he seems here, how naturally he fits into this world of warmth and trust and loyalty. If I didn’t know better, I’d guess he’s been here his whole life.
I shouldn't answer. Not with betrayal so fresh on my tongue. It’s easy to hang up the call. But my feet carry me to his door before I can stop myself, knocking softly on the frame.
"Were you looking for me?" I aim for casual despite the way my heart stutters. "I saw you calling."
He looks up, something flickering across his face too quickly to read. His eyes seem to glow faintly in the dying light, bright with something I can’t identify.
"I was just..." He sets his phone down, studying me with an expression I can't quite parse. "You’ve seemed off. I was wondering if you were okay.”
The admission catches me off guard. Immediately, I am apprehensive. "Off?"
"Distracted." He leans forward, elbows on his desk. "Like something was weighing on you."
There's genuine concern in his voice, softer than I've heard him before. It shocks me. I find it harder to process that sound than if he had been furious or suspicious; fury, I understand.
"Just tired," I lie, but the words feel hollow. "New place, new routines..."
"New people?"
"The pack's been good to me," I say quietly, meaning it despite everything.
"We look after our own."
The words hit too close to home. Does he know something? Or is this just his instincts picking up on my distress?
"I should go," I manage, already backing toward the door. "Early start tomorrow. I hope you’re not wasting time worrying for me, Rafael—I can handle myself.”
I step out before he can respond. Hopefully, he will get the hint and back off.
And whatever he’s digging for, I hope he realizes now he won’t be getting it out of me anytime soon.