Kaya
"Stop shouting!" The woman shoots an irritated glare, but I barely register her annoyance. If she’s really about to commit a cri, then I want no part of it.
"Hey, let go!" I protest, yanking my arm in a futile attempt to free myself. But before I can earn another scowl from her, she suddenly halts, dragging to a stop before a cluster of towering trees in what looks like an abandoned garden.
She glances around warily, her hand slipping into the pocket of her worn leather jacket. Her fingers fumble for sothing as her sharp eyes scan the surroundings, her body taut with alertness.
"Here we go," she murmurs, pulling out a thick ribbon—wider than the ones braided into her hair. In the dim light, I can make out its deep red hue.
"Now, stand here and let know if anyone’s coming, alright?"
Without waiting for a response, she grips the lowest branch of a tree and hoists herself up, moving with practiced ease. I gape at her, completely dumbfounded.
"What... what are you doing? What are we doing?" My voice barely rises above a whisper, but the panic is there, bubbling beneath the surface.
She pauses on the first sturdy branch, looking down at with narrowed eyes, as if she’s suddenly suspicious of . "I already told you—we’re committing a cri."
Then, shaking her head as if I’m the idiot here, she resus her climb.
I have absolutely no idea what to do. But since running away doesn’t seem like a viable option, I do as she instructed—I glance around, scanning the darkness, watching for any sign of movent.
Luckily—or at least that’s how it feels—no one is around. Just as I start to wonder what exactly she’s up to, there’s a rustle from above, and the woman suddenly drops down, landing with a light thud.
In her hands is a bottle of red wine.
"Let’s go," she commands, grabbing by the wrist once more. Her grin is wild, almost exhilarated. "It’s one thing to commit a cri—another to get away with it."
And then, we run.
I no longer feel the need to question her actions. What’s the point? She never answers anyway. But strangely, I don’t feel afraid anymore.
In fact, an unexpected thrill courses through , sending a rush of energy to my limbs. Before I even realize it, my feet pick up speed, my heart pounding not from fear, but from exhilaration. Soon, I no longer need her to drag along. I’m running on my own.
I don’t know how long we’ve been running, but I recognize the path—we’re heading back toward the pack house. The woman guides to one of the back entrances, her pace slowing as she ducks low, moving with a careful, practiced stealth. She glances over her shoulder like a true criminal avoiding capture.
By the ti we slip inside, my breathing is uneven, but hers is steady, like she’s done this a hundred tis before. We creep up the stairwell, her right hand buried deep in her jacket, fingers curled protectively around whatever she’s hiding. I follow in silence, tiptoeing behind her as if I, too, have beco an accomplice.
She halts on the gamma floor, weaving effortlessly through the dimly lit corridor. Before I can process what’s happening, she swings open a door and shoves inside, locking it behind her with a soft click.
For a mont, the room is silent.
Then, she whirls around, a wide grin stretching across her lips.
"Yes!" she yelps, bouncing on her heels as she does an odd little victory dance, her right arm raised high, shaking the wine bottle above her head like a trophy. Laughter spills from her lips, light and unrestrained.
"Goddess, you have no idea how much I love doing this," she exclaims, striding toward the desk and placing the bottle down with a satisfied thud.
I stare at her, my mouth slightly agape, my pulse still racing.
"I’m sorry," I finally manage, my voice barely above a whisper. My eyes are wide in disbelief. "Did we really just commit a cri?"
She blinks at for a mont, her expression unreadable. Then, without warning, she bursts into laughter, her shoulders shaking as she claps her hands together in amusent.
"Of course not! Oh, damn! I just realized—I don’t even know you!"
She stops abruptly, and an awkward silence stretches between us. I stare at her, eyebrows raised in disbelief. She only just realized she doesn’t know ?
"Ahh," she hums, nodding slowly, as if recalling sothing important. "You must be that new girl—the oga, right?"
I hesitate before nodding, bracing myself for the sa reaction I got from the girls in the kitchen. But to my surprise, her expression doesn’t shift. No sneers, no disgust, no condescension.
Instead, she shrugs off her leather jacket, revealing a black sports bra beneath. Muscles ripple subtly across her arms, a testant to her strength. She steps closer, extending a hand toward , her grin easy and open.
"Samantha Tillian. Warrior gamma," she introduces herself. "Nice to et you."
I glance down at her outstretched hand, my stomach twisting with uncertainty. Is she really being friendly, or is this another ga? The door is still locked, after all.
Goddess, I’m overthinking again.
"So?" Samantha lifts a brow, jerking her chin toward her hand. "Am I gonna learn your na or not?"
I swallow hard, then finally exhale.
"Kaya," I murmur. "Kaya Moon."
I accept her hand, but the mont her firm grip tightens around mine, I instinctively wince. Goddess, she’s strong.
Her piercing blue eyes study intently, the silence between us stretching long enough to make my skin prickle. It’s not exactly uncomfortable, but there’s a weight to it, pressing down on as if she’s trying to read sothing beyond just my na.
Then, just as abruptly as she seized my hand, she releases it, her lips curling into another wide, easy grin.
"Moon, huh?" she muses, tilting her head slightly. "Yeah... I can see the resemblance."
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