JACKLA

They always said wolves ran in packs.

I learned too young that some wolves ate their own.

I used to think the night was my only friend, that the quiet darkness and cold wind could wrap around me and take away the sting left behind by the people who were supposed to love me.

But even the night turned cruel when I slipped through the side gate of the convent at four in the morning, with someone else’s blood drying beneath my fingernails.

My heels clicked softly against the stone floor, each step a reminder of how far I had fallen. The air inside was colder than outside, thick with candle wax, old wood, and prayers whispered for girls nothing like me.

The silence pressed against my skin, sharp and suffocating. I dropped my bag and sat on the edge of the bed, each breath aching in my ribs. His grip had left bruises.

His breath still lingered in my memory, hot and threatening. My thoughts slipped back to the club. Just a few hours earlier, the room had been loud, full of bodies. I danced like I meant it, but I didn’t.

Mu smile had been fake. My corset was tight. My heels were punishment.

Then I saw him.

No, not saw. Felt.

He stood by the bar, tall and still, radiating a quiet danger that silenced the noise around him. People moved for him without being asked. The air bent for him. Alpha.

He didn’t smile. Didn’t speak. Just stared. And I knew.

I was prey.

Later that night, in the hallway behind the stage where the lights dimmed and the bass faded, he found me. No words. No questions.

He shoved me against the wall like I didn’t matter. His hand on my thigh. His breath at my neck. His body pinning mine.

I begged for him to stop, but he didn’t. The world blurred. My body froze, like it always did, like it had when I was seventeen and saw Jayla on our stepfather’s lap, her mouth on his, his hands already claiming what should’ve never been touched.

My stomach had turned to ice. Jayla had seen me. She didn’t even flinch. Just smiled, like it didn’t matter. Like I didn’t matter. From that moment, I became the outsider in my own home.

She had been having an affair with our stepfather even when our mother was still alive. That night came rushing back in the shape of this stranger’s violence.

The helplessness.

The scream caught in my throat.

There was a pulse, like lightning in my chest, and then silence. When I opened my eyes, I was outside in the alley. The back of my head throbbed.

My dress was torn, and my hands were covered in blood. I didn’t know what happened to him. I didn’t know if I killed him. All I did was run, through alleys, through back roads. Back to the only place that had ever given me silence, even if it was hollow.

The convent never asked questions. Just gave me a room and a name I didn’t deserve. But peace never stayed with people like me. I pulled my boots off with shaking hands. I didn’t cry. I hadn’t cried in years.

Not since my mother’s body went cold on the kitchen floor and no one even called for help. Not since Jayla moved into her room, fucking my stepfather like he had always belonged to her.

Jayla, got the name. The house. The inheritance.

I got silence.

And bruises.

I was the girl who neighbors whispered about, the girl who ran away from her pack until her feet bled. So I joined a low-key assassin crew. Took the jobs. No questions. Just targets. Just payment.

Hours passed slowly as I lay in bed, unable to shake the feeling of unease. It had been days without any word from my boss. We hadn’t gone on any mission in weeks.

Then, suddenly, my phone buzzed on the nightstand. One word on the screen: Target.

That was all it ever said.

We always went for the bad guys. The monsters. I used to think I was doing the world a favor. But good people didn’t swing around poles in dark clubs, pretending to smile while being watched like prey.

Good people didn’t carry blades in their boots. Or take cash rolled tight with someone else’s scent still clinging to it. I never planned to live like this. I only joined the crew because the money was quick, and I was desperate.

Some nights we got jobs. Other times, we didn’t hear anything for weeks. And when the silence stretched too long, I found myself dancing in backroom clubs, just to keep food in my stomach and sort out bills.

And stripping wasn’t even the worst of it. Some nights it was the only way to be seen. Not loved, just seen. Like I was real, even if they looked at me wrong.

I stared at my phone like it might blink and rewrite my life. I reached under my pillow and slipped the blade back into my coat pocket. But before I could make it to the door, a hand grabbed me from behind.

Big. Rough. Covered in calluses. One arm locked across my waist. The other clamped over my mouth. I thrashed, kicked, bit, but then the scent hit me.

Something meant to knock out dogs. Or wolves.

My body sagged. My limbs went numb.

And the last thing I saw was the light overhead. Spinning. Fading. Then everything went black.

—

After what felt like an eternity, I opened my eyes and realized I was no longer in my room. My arms were tied. My mouth tasted like blood. My head pounded like it had been split open.

A flickering bulb buzzed overhead, making everything look sickly yellow.

And then I saw her.

Standing there.

Still. Silent.

Her face was mine. Her eyes, cold and knowing.

Jayla.

My sister.

My twin.

The last person I ever wanted to see again.