The rehearsal studio reeked of hairspray, sweat, and something faker than the smiles we wore on stage. Too-bright lights glared down from the ceiling, hot against my scalp, and the mirrored walls reflected every tired blink like they were trying to accuse me of something. Of being over it, maybe. Of losing the spark.
Gods, maybe I had.
I slouched deeper into the couch in the back corner, earbuds in, but nothing playing. Just white noise. Silence with teeth. My phone lay flat on my chest like a stone. Dead weight. Kinda like me.
Minjoon was yelling about spacing again, like being off by a millimeter would ruin our entire comeback. The others danced like their lives depended on it. I couldn't blame them. It kind of did. We were all here because we were the best at pretending not to bleed.
Somewhere behind the glass, our manager watched with his arms folded, probably already drafting another statement for the press. "Jaerin is focused on artistic growth," or some crap like that. "He's taking time to realign his energy." As if I wasn't two inches from walking away for good.
I hadn't shifted in weeks. My wolf was silent. Coiled tight beneath my ribs like it didn't want to be seen either. Like it was just as tired of the lights and the rehearsals and the cameras.
Then my phone buzzed.
@Minjoon: Bro. Watch this. No autotune. 2M in three days. The girl?? THE LOOK??? Is she even human??
I exhaled slowly, thumbed the screen open more out of boredom than curiosity.
The video loaded. Low-res. Unedited. Looked like someone filmed it on an old iPhone. Some tiny studio with bad lighting. A girl stood in the middle of it. Hoodie too big. Jeans cuffed. Braids falling over her shoulders like a curtain.
I almost clicked away.
And then she opened her mouth.
The note didn't just come out. It arrived.
Low. Haunting. Sweet and sharp all at once, like a blade dipped in honey. It cut through every noise in the room. Through every beat, every syllable Minjoon was shouting. Through the ache behind my eyes. It reached in and yanked something out of me.
My heart stuttered.
I sat up.
Her voice wasn't just pretty. It was true.
Not trained. Not polished. Not built for stage lights and viral edits. Just raw and real and full of that old, aching something I hadn't let myself feel in too long.
Her skin was the color of twilight, eyes grey like the sea right before it turns. And she didn't look at the camera. Not really. She looked through it.
Straight into me.
My wolf stirred.
Then surged.
Mine. Mate!
The word wasn't a thought. It was a force.
My breath hitched. I ripped the earbuds out. The room went silent for me—not really, but it felt that way. Like all the other sounds had just… stopped mattering.
What the hell was happening to me?
My heart pounded. Not fast. Hard. Like my chest didn't know how to hold it anymore. Like it needed to run to her.
My wolf wasn't quiet now. It was wide-eyed. Ears up. Tail thumping against my insides like a damn puppy. It whimpered. It growled. Not in anger, but in want. In recognition.
There. it whispered. There she is.
I closed the video. Locked the phone. Threw it face-down on the couch like it burned.
I wasn't doing this.
I didn't believe in fate. Didn't believe in prophecies or soulmates or any of that moon-blessed bullshit our packs whispered. I was a Beta because I earned it. I was an idol because I fought for it. No one gave me anything. So why did it feel like this girl's voice had been made just for me?
Why did her eyes look like they'd been carved into my memory centuries ago?
Why did the wolf inside me go still the second she sang, like it finally found what it had been chasing across lifetimes?
No.
Coincidence. Algorithm. Viral fever dream.
I stood. Shoved the phone in my pocket. Ran both hands through my hair and made my way toward the exit, ignoring the way the mirrors seemed to reflect something I didn't want to see. A boy unraveling. A wolf trying to bolt.
Cold air. That's what I needed. Something to punch. Something to forget her with. But my wolf was already halfway to wherever she was, begging for one more note.
And me? I hated it. Hated how easily one girl with a storm in her throat and dusk on her skin had cracked open everything I'd kept chained. I didn't want to feel anything.
But gods, I felt her, even from miles away, she was already under my skin.
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The gym was nearly empty when I got there.
Good.
The air smelled like old rubber mats, steel, and old sweat—familiar. Honest, in a way nothing else in my life was. The kind of place where you didn't have to smile or speak. You just hit things until something inside you stopped screaming.
I scanned the space—low light, dust motes in the air, and the heavy silence of a place that didn't care who you were on stage.
Perfect.
I didn't bother with greetings. Just pulled my hoodie tighter around me and headed straight for the back.
I wasn't here to be polite.
I was here to hit something until I forgot her voice.
My reflection in the locker mirror caught me off guard. Pale skin, sweat-slicked hair falling in my eyes, jaw clenched hard enough to crack.
Twenty years old.
Beta of Silverfang.
K-pop's golden boy.
And I still couldn't outrun my own damn blood.
I looked like I had it all. I knew that. I knew how to look. How to move. That effortless "dangerous but desirable" thing the fans drooled over. I'd been trained in it since I could walk. Every smirk. Every stare. Precision-cut for effect.
But none of it was real. Not the gloss. Not the charm. Not the easy calm I wore like armor.
Inside, I was a ticking bomb. All teeth and tension and a wolf that hadn't stopped pacing since her voice shattered through my skull like prophecy wrapped in silk.
I wrapped my knuckles slowly. Methodically. Not because I needed to, but because I needed to stall the part of me that was already giving in. The part that replayed her voice like a prayer. Like a damn promise.
One punch. Then two. Then ten.
The bag swung. I hit harder.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Her eyes. Her voice. Her presence.
I wanted it out of me.
But my wolf—
My wolf was useless. Tail wagging like a fool. Pressed up against my ribs like it had already imprinted on a memory. It whimpered every time I tried to close the door she'd opened.
Mine.
"No," I growled aloud. "Don't start with that shit."
My fist slammed into the bag again.
I didn't do fate. Fate was for weaker wolves. For children and romantics. I knew better. I'd watched fate rip people apart and call it destiny. I'd watched mates break each other into pieces and smile through the ruin.
Fate didn't save people like me. It weaponized them.
Still…
The sound of her voice curled in my head like smoke.
And her eyes—
Gods.
No one should be allowed to look at a camera like that. Like they saw everything. Like they saw me.
I threw another punch, muscles straining, lungs heaving. The bag jolted back and I followed through, fists flying now, body moving on instinct.
She haunted me.
A girl I hadn't met. Didn't know. Didn't want to want.
And yet…
Her voice was already under my skin, soft as a whisper, dangerous as a siren's pull.
My wolf pressed closer.
It didn't care about logic.
It didn't care about the carefully constructed distance I kept from everyone, even my own pack. It didn't care about the stage or the lights or the fact that I didn't even know her name.
It just knew her. Felt her. Chose her.
And that terrified me.
Because what if I couldn't walk away this time?
What if the thing I'd spent my whole life running from had just sung me to my knees?
The bag swung wide, chain rattling, and I stopped.
Chest heaving.
Hands bruised.
Sweat rolling down my spine.
The world had tilted. I felt it in my bones.
Something was coming.
She was coming.
And no matter how hard I fought it, no matter how long I hid in the shadows—
My wolf would follow her anywhere.