𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝 - 𝘴𝘶𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘢𝘭

(𝐨)

ＰＲＯＬＯＧＵＥ
𝐅𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐁𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬

༺༻

Odessa Whitlock had always known her life was different. It wasn't just the constant moving or the lack of a stable home; it was the sense of duty that hung over her like a dark cloud.

Her father had thrusted her into the life of hunting from an early age, a life her mother had desperately wanted to shield her from. The lessons were harsh, the training relentless, and the love nonexistent. James Whitlock treated her like another one of his many projects, devoid of any warmth or affection. To him, she was just another hunter, another weapon in his war against the supernatural.

But she couldn't blame him, no matter how much she wanted to. She wished her life were different, often dreaming of what it could have been if the circumstances were kinder.

The haunting memory of that night, the night everything changed, tormented her both in her sleep and when she was awake. She could never escape it. Her father had been doing what he thought was right, and so, despite her deep resentment, she couldn't entirely blame him.

James was all alone, saddled with a daughter he didn't want. Odessa had no choice but to stick by his side; she knew she wouldn't survive on her own without him. She needed him, and James was fully aware of that. He used her dependence to his advantage, ensuring she remained under his control, bound to a life she never chose. The resentment simmered, but the bond of necessity kept her tethered, unable to break free from the only semblance of security she knew.

They were currently living in a cramped apartment above a workshop owned by an old friend of James. The place was small, with creaky floorboards and a persistent smell of motor oil, but it was a roof over their heads. Odessa had learned not to get attached to places; they never stayed long enough for it to matter. At fourteen, she had already seen more of the country than most people did in a lifetime, though she rarely saw anything beyond the next hunt.

It was a humid summer evening, the air thick with the scent of impending rain. Odessa was sitting on the worn-out sofa, flipping through her father's notes on various supernatural creatures, trying to absorb as much information as possible. The TV droned in the background, but her mind was elsewhere, focused on the task at hand. She knew her father would quiz her later, and failure was not an option.

A sudden knock on the door broke her concentration. James, who had been cleaning his weapons at the kitchen table, looked up with a frown. Visitors were rare, and welcomed even less. He put down the rag he was using and walked over to the door, opening it cautiously.

Standing there was a tall, rugged man with a stern expression and an air of authority. Behind him, two boys, one around Odessa's age and the other a bit younger, peered curiously into the apartment.