Alessia Stocklin and Ezra Withers are polar opposites, but they can certainly agree on one thing: their mutual hate for each other.
He's an Alpha deadset on killing every rogue he comes across, while she's a vigilante - known as Nightshade - intent...
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I longed for a rogue alert to distract my attention. Yet, no matter how many times I checked my watch, no such alert popped up in the past three days. As the gap between the last encounter with Ezra widened, I grew suspicious. Had Link told someone about my identity? Were they gearing up for my impending capture? While the idea of Link betraying me did not sit well with me, I knew better than to think the worst of him. His hate for rogues did not overpower his loyalty to those close to him.
Run, the voice taunted me in a sing-song melody. Just run away, Alessia, and this will all go away.
Shaking the voice out of my head, I begrudgingly continued my march to work. In response to the Feral sighting, my shifts as Enforcer were increasing. Rarely before did I ever have to work the night shift. Enforcer Clarence enjoyed the late night hours, and we never had any reason for needing more protection than Clarence could provide. However, with the increased threat, Alpha Byron wanted at least four Enforcers on duty at all times. For a larger pack, these numbers would be no problem. With a total count of eight Enforcers in our pack, the workload was almost never-ending.
Already half asleep before my shift started, I almost glazed over the new and improved Nightshade wanted poster. Nothing was out of place since the last time I glanced at the declaration for my capture — nothing besides the bounty. The price on my head increased to two hundred thousand dollars.
I balled my firsts with gritted teeth, glaring at the wanted poster. Two hundred thousand dollars. That was a life-changing amount of money. I had no doubt bounty hunters, private investigators, and even everyday folk would be out in droves, trying to find me.
Stifling a groan, my impending shift left little to no time to wallow in the disparaging circumstances that seemed to flock to me this past week. Instead of allowing myself a release for my frustration, I furiously swiped my time card into its slot and walked over to the Enforcer Bay.
The Enforcer Bay was the hub for all Enforcer communication. It was where we received our daily assignments, but it was also used for a quick meeting or break from the action if needed. As a result of the infrequent use, the room was not equipped to hold eight people. A couple spare folding chairs were taken from the pack inventory to try and make room for our increased workload, but it left little to no room to walk.
There was a metal table in the middle of the room with two matching chairs; the rest of the mismatched chairs were crammed wherever they could fit. Corked bulletin boards lined the walls with paper announcements and miscellaneous newspaper clippings.
"Barely on time today, I see," Lead Enforcer, Yuri, observed, his legs resting on the metal table as he flipped through some papers. His eyes filtered up on my entrance, but he remained unmoved otherwise.
"On time, nonetheless," I said, taking a seat across from Yuri.
Yuri was approaching retirement; more accurately, he had been approaching retirement for the past decade or so. Yuri was one of the handful of survivors from Meridian. At the time, he was a senior member of the Enforcer staff. Upon the fall of Meridian, he was promptly promoted to Lead Enforcer as no one was left who was as qualified for the job. Even ten years later, there was still no one quite qualified enough to take up his post — not that he would have wanted anyone to.
