The heavy hum of the bunker's ventilation felt more oppressive than usual as Team 11 crowded around the sensor board. At the center, Zack navigated the interface with hesitant, flickering movements. He looked exhausted, his hands hovering over the glass as if afraid to commit to a command. Every few seconds, his eyes darted toward Trinity, then away. To him, she was no longer a teammate; she was a variable he couldn't solve, and the uncertainty was wearing him thin.
To his left, Dom didn't bother with the data. He stood with arms crossed, his body locked in a lethal, predatory stillness. He didn't look at the screen once; instead, his gaze was fixed on the side of Trinity's head, waiting for a slip, a word, or a glance—any excuse to issue a formal challenge and end her presence in the pack permanently.
Nearby, Malika's fingers flew across a secondary terminal, though she kept a weary distance. Every time Trinity shifted her weight, Malika's shoulders tensed, her eyes tracking Trinity like one might track a live grenade rolling across the floor.
"You are a trainee, not a warrior," Wesley's voice cut through the localized tension, his tone sharp and authoritative. "Your freedom is restricted."
Trinity didn't flinch. She kept her eyes locked on the topographical map where a yellow light pulsed rhythmically near the creek bed. "I wasn't aware you were still teaching me," she said, her voice flat and devoid of interest. The lessons, the ranks, the posturing—it all felt like children playing at war while she dealt with the reality of it.
"You think you're better than the rest of us!" Dom growled. The sound was wet and guttural as his nails elongated, tearing slightly through the tips of his gloves into the jagged Talon claws of his Beast.
Trinity snorted. It was a bitter, sharp sound. She found it pathetic—how they could hold the chains and the whips and still manage to convince themselves they were the victims. "I know I'm better than you," she responded, her voice cool and clinical as she remained glued to the board.
"I'll rip your head off!" Dom lunged forward, his body dropping into a low, coiled crouch. He was vibrating, his muscles rippling as the shift began to claw its way to the surface.
Trinity finally turned. Her blue eyes, flecked with gold, ignited into a solid, molten glow as she stared down at his hunkered form. "I would kill you before your foot even left the ground," she said softly. She tilted her head, a slow, maniacal smile spreading across her face—a look designed to plant seeds of suspicion and cold, hard fear. "You think defective children are scary? Imagine what someone like me could do to you."
Her mocking laughter rang out, echoing off the concrete walls. The surrounding teams went deafeningly silent. Every trainee in the bunker stopped what they were doing, their memories flashing back to the day she had moved like a ghost—a shadow appearing and disappearing as if she were a witch rather than a wolf. Three full-grown warriors hadn't been able to touch her, and these were just trainees who had yet to prove their worth.
Tank suddenly lunged forward, his massive hand clamping onto Dom's arm and wrenching him back. He knew better. They all did. Between her lethal efficiency and her status as the Beta's daughter, there was no room for retribution here—only suicide.
Zack cleared his throat loudly, his voice strained as he tried to reclaim the room. "Keep your eyes on the board," he commanded his team, though his eyes lingered on Trinity. She was beyond them. They weren't even strong enough to take offense to her insults.
"Listen to your leader," Trinity whispered, letting the threat hang in the air like a shroud. "Because the next time you threaten me..."
Beside her, Luca remained seemingly oblivious to the radiating hostility. He leaned in closer, his brow furrowed as he caught that faint, unmistakable metallic scent. It was thin, but to a wolf, it was a siren: the smell of her blood.
Trinity stepped sideways, trying to put distance between herself and his lurking presence. She didn't want a protector, and she certainly didn't want a friend. "You smell like blood," Luca said, his voice low and laced with a concern that made her skin crawl.
Trinity didn't look at him. She didn't look at Dom, who was still vibrating with suppressed rage. "It's an even day," she responded coolly. "Every defective smells like blood today."
Her mind flashed to the punishment grounds—the whistle of the lash, the skin breaking, and the way the pack reeked of iron by nightfall. She didn't need his nose in her business. Turning on her heel, she abandoned the sensor board and headed for the small mess hall.
Inside, she moved with frantic, cautious efficiency. Her eyes scanned the corners, ensuring the room was empty before she snatched a protein drink from the cooler. With steady hands, she pulled a small white pouch from her pocket—the one she'd carried since the night before.
She suppressed a gag as a thick, gelatinous fluid glopped out of the pouch and into the bottle. Once the pouch was empty, she capped the drink and shook it violently. She rolled her neck, her joints popping, as she psyched herself up for the task.
She didn't hesitate. With lethal speed, she cracked the seal and began to chug. Her throat convulsed, her body screaming at her to stop, her mind conjuring images of the rot to make her vomit. She refused. She forced it down, swallowing until the last drop was gone.
She slammed the empty bottle onto the table just as the heavy thud of combat boots echoed behind her. The guards had arrived to escort her to the Alpha's estate.
After all, it was an even day.
Author's note:
I don't know of any of my readers out. There are dealing with the polar vortex. In truth, not that cold. But my God so much shoveling. My arms hurt.