Seraphina’s POV
The apartnt was a dump.
There was no other word for it. Peeling paint on the walls. A faucet that dripped constantly no matter how tight I turned it. A radiator that clanged like soone was beating it with a hamr every few hours.
But it was mine. For now.
I sat on the threadbare couch I’d bought from a secondhand store, laptop balanced on my knees, scrolling through job listings that all seed to require experience I didn’t have. Or at least, experience I couldn’t explain.
*Administrative Assistant - 3 years experience required.*
*Receptionist - Must have verifiable employnt history.*
*Data Entry Clerk - References from previous employers mandatory.*
How was I supposed to explain that my last job was as a high-level assistant to an Alpha werewolf who ran a supernatural business empire? That I’d managed pack politics and territory negotiations and life-or-death situations on a daily basis?
I couldn’t. Which ant I was nobody. A woman with no work history, no references, no proof that I was capable of anything.
My phone buzzed. A text from Margaret.
*"How’s the job hunt going, sweetheart? Thinking of you!"*
I stared at the ssage for a long mont, my chest tight. Four days since I’d left their house.
*"Good! Had a few interviews. Will call soon."*
My laptop screen showed seventeen rejections in my email inbox. Seventeen polite "thank you for your interest" ssages that all said the sa thing: *Not qualified. Not enough experience. Not what we’re looking for.*
I slamd the laptop shut and stood up, pacing the small living room like a caged animal. The walls felt like they were closing in.
*This is ridiculous,* I told myself firmly. *You’re being dramatic. Plenty of people start over. Plenty of people build new lives from nothing.*
My phone rang. Unknown number.
"Hello?"
"Hi, is this Sarah?" A woman’s voice, professional but friendly. "This is Jennifer from Marketing Solutions. We received your application for the receptionist position."
My heart jumped. "Yes! Yes, this is Sarah."
"Great! I was hoping we could set up an interview for tomorrow morning. Would ten o’clock work for you?"
"Absolutely. That would be perfect."
"Wonderful. We’re located downtown, 1247 Pine Street, Suite 304. Just bring a copy of your resu and be prepared to discuss your experience with custor service."
"I’ll be there," I said. "Thank you so much for the opportunity."
"Looking forward to eting you, Sarah."
The line went dead, and I stared at my phone with sothing that might have been hope. Maybe this was it. Maybe this was the break I needed.
I spent the rest of the evening practicing answers to interview questions in front of my bathroom mirror.
*"Tell about yourself."*
*"I’m a dedicated professional looking for a fresh start in a new city."* True, even if it left out the part about abandoning my werewolf family.
*"What’s your greatest weakness?"*
*"I sotis care too much."*
*"Where do you see yourself in five years?"*
*"Building a stable career and contributing to a growing company."*
---
The interview was a disaster.
Jennifer turned out to be a sharp-eyed woman in her forties who asked all the wrong questions.
"I noticed so gaps in your employnt history," she said, scanning my carefully crafted resu. "Can you explain the period between 2018 and now?"
"I was... caring for family mbers," I said, my palms sweating. "It required my full attention."
"I see. And before that, your experience was primarily in..." She squinted at the page. "Administrative support for a family business?"
"Yes. I handled scheduling, correspondence, conflict resolution..."
"Conflict resolution?"
Shit. "Minor disputes. Custor complaints. That sort of thing."
She made a note on my resu. Not a good note, judging by her expression.
"And you don’t have any references from this family business?"
"Unfortunately, no. The... business closed. Family mbers relocated."
More notes. Definitely not good ones.
"Well, Sarah," Jennifer set down my resu with the kind of finality that ant bad news. "You seem like a lovely person, but we’re really looking for soone with more verifiable experience."
"I understand," I said quietly. "Thank you for your ti."
I walked out of that office building feeling smaller than I had in years. On the street, people rushed past like I was invisible. Which, I guess, I was.
Just another nobody in a city full of nobodies.
---
By evening, I was emotionally wrung out. Seven interviews in four days. Seven rejections. Seven variations of "not qualified" and "not what we’re looking for."
I dragged myself to the small grocery store three blocks from my apartnt, my list pathetically short: bread, peanut butter, instant noodles. The cheapest food I could find that would last more than one al.
The Morrison’s money wouldn’t last forever. At this rate, it wouldn’t last the month.
The fluorescent lights in the store were harsh and buzzing, making everything look sickly yellow. I grabbed a basket and wandered the aisles. I was reaching for a loaf of generic white bread when I felt it. That prickle between my shoulder blades that used to an my wolf senses were picking up potential danger.
I turned casually, scanning the store. A few other shoppers browsing the aisles. The teenage cashier looking bored out of his mind. Nothing obviously threatening.
But the feeling persisted.
I finished my shopping quickly, paid for my pathetic groceries, and headed out into the darkening street. It was only seven o’clock, but the days were getting shorter, shadows lengthening between buildings.
My apartnt was a fifteen-minute walk. Easy. Safe. This was a decent neighborhood, not the kind of place where won got mugged walking ho with groceries.
But halfway there, I heard them.
Footsteps.
Not the casual footsteps of soone else walking ho. These were deliberate. Matching my pace. When I slowed down, they slowed down. When I sped up, they sped up.
My heart started racing, that familiar flood of adrenaline that used to trigger my wolf’s protective instincts. But there was no wolf anymore. Just , alone, carrying a bag of groceries and trying not to panic.
*Don’t be paranoid,* I told myself. *Lots of people walk the sa route. It’s probably nothing.*
I turned left at the next corner, taking a slightly longer route ho. The footsteps turned too.
*Okay. Not nothing.*
I ducked into a 24-hour laundromat, pretending to check the prices on the washing machines while watching the street through the window.
A man walked past. Mid-thirties, maybe. Jeans and a rumpled jacket. Nothing obviously threatening about him except for the way he slowed down as he passed the laundromat. The way his head turned slightly toward the window.
And the distinct sll of alcohol that drifted in when soone opened the door behind .
*He’s drunk.*
I waited five minutes, pretending to read notices on the bulletin board, before venturing back outside. The street looked empty. Normal.
I made it another two blocks before I heard the footsteps again.
This ti, I didn’t hesitate. I pulled out my phone and started walking faster, my thumb hovering over Caleb’s number. He was three hours away, too far to help, but at least soone would know where I was if sothing happened.
"Co on, co on," I muttered, my breath coming in short puffs in the cold air.
The footsteps behind sped up too.
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