Amara took a deep breath, her mind racing with possibilities. If there was one thing she wanted to avoid right now, it was Alexander.
She stood frozen in front of the metallic door, weighing her options as if her life depended on it. Taking one last deep breath, she stepped forward, opening the door slowly with a soft creak.
Alex sat comfortably in his chair, his gaze fixed on the screen in front of him. His fingers moved swiftly over the keyboard, the clicking sounds the only noise in the otherwise silent room.
Amara's eyes darted downward, her hands fidgeting as she tried to figure out the best way to approach him.
"Looks like you wouldn't talk," Alex's cold voice broke the silence, making her stop breathing for a moment. His eyes remained on the screen, not sparing her a glance.
"I... I'm… sorry, sir. I overslept, and…" Amara stammered, her voice faltering as she struggled to find a starting point for her explanation.
Alex finally raised his head from the screen, his gaze locking onto hers. The coldness in his blue eyes didn't waver for a second.
"Why?"
The word stung like a sharp blow. The simple question felt like a prelude to disaster if she said the wrong thing.
Her hands gripped the edge of the scratched armrest, her mind blanking under the weight of his scrutiny. Deep down, she could feel the metaphorical claws of dread digging into her, reminding her of the cause of her current predicament.
"You're still having trouble with that?" Alex asked, his tone slightly softer but still laced with frost.
He stood up, his slow steps toward her filling the room. Her heartbeat quickened, hammering painfully in her chest.
"I thought you said you were fine," he said, stopping just before her. His arms crossed, and his piercing gaze seemed to strip her of any facade, reading straight into her soul.
"I am fine," Amara managed to say, finally summoning a fragment of courage.
Alex chuckled softly, his expression unreadable. He gestured toward a brown envelope on his desk. "Good. It's okay if you're fine."
"I prepared this for you earlier."
Amara's eyes widened in shock. She didn't need anyone to tell her what was inside that envelope.
Her heart raced as she looked between Alex and the envelope, tears already forming in her eyes.
Don't tell me that's a termination letter, she thought, her mind spiraling into panic.
"Well, since you said you're fine," Alex said, pausing as if savoring her reaction, "I guess that will hold… for now."
"I'm putting it on hold, but don't rest easy. It's here for you whenever I decide I don't need lazy hands in my company," he said coldly, his voice devoid of emotion as he turned back to his seat.
For a moment, Amara thanked her luck—and her restraint—for not saying anything stupid enough to get her fired outright.
"You're dismissed, Miss Rhodes. Expect some changes from me," Alex added, his attention already back on the screen.
Amara exited the room without a word, her thoughts racing.
As the door clicked shut, Alex leaned back in his chair, letting it tilt. A faint scoff escaped his lips.
"Am I really going to fire her?" he muttered to himself, chuckling softly at the absurdity of the thought.
"Amara Rhodes…"
---
Amara stepped into her small office, a modest space cluttered with papers and office supplies.
Exhaustion clouded her amber-brown eyes as she collapsed into her chair.
The recent confrontation replayed in her mind. Her life had spiraled into chaos since that night—since her encounter with the wolf.
Nothing felt normal anymore. It was as if that night had triggered something unnatural, the beginning of a change that would alter her fate forever.
Her eyes fluttered shut, her body feeling weak and drained.
The pain flared again, drawing her attention to the bandaged scratch on her arm. She pulled up her sleeve, staring at the wound. Even through the bandages, she could feel the unnatural heat radiating from it.
Amara shook her head, forcing herself to refocus on her work. It was the only way to escape the looming threat of Alex's proverbial red card.
---
A young man moved swiftly down the street, his black hood pulled low over his face.
His steps were precise and deliberate as he stopped in front of a small shop: Wolfie Auto Stop.
He entered the large space, where a few workers bustled around, busy with their tasks.
"Good morning, sir," a young worker greeted him, but the man ignored the greeting, walking briskly toward a secluded area of the shop.
He entered a spare office, a silent and isolated space filled with equipment and tools. Pulling down his hood, he revealed his face—Elijah Wolfie.
His jet-black hair sat neatly on his head, and his brown eyes, cold and calculating, gave him an air of quiet intensity.
"What's wrong?" Elijah muttered to himself, his hands clenching as his brows furrowed in thought.
Since the day he accidentally slashed the young woman attacked by his half-brother, something had felt off.
His strength had waned, his heightened senses dulled. It was as if part of him had been stolen—locked away somewhere or in someone.
His mind growled with frustration.
The image of blood in the woods replayed in his head—the moment his powers faltered.
"Is she a witch?" he murmured, his voice barely audible. "How did she steal my powers? Why am I so weak from a single scratch?"
The questions swirled in his mind, each one demanding an answer he couldn't find.
"I need answers."
His once-soft brown eyes glowed with a cold, otherworldly light—a stark reflection of the dark resolve forming within him.
"If she has my powers, I'll do whatever it takes to get them back," he said, his voice a chilling whisper.
"Even if it means killing her."