Chapter 7: Paper Tail

Lola Pov

The banging on the door didn't stop for a long time.

Each thud felt like it was rattling my teeth. I stood in the dark, clutching the strap of the go-bag until my palm went numb. I was clueless on what to do.

"Lola!" Tristain’s voice was a low growl now. "I know you're awake in there. Open this door."

I didn't answer. I shoved the bag deep under the bed, kicked it against the wall, and scrambled onto the mattress.

I pulled the heavy duvet over my head and forced my body to go limp. I took slow, shallow breaths, trying to mimic the heavy sleep of someone drugged by their own medication.

The handle rattled one last time. A violent, frustrated shake. Then, silence. I heard his footsteps recede down the hallway, heavy and deliberate. I stayed under the covers for hours, watching the red glow of the digital clock.

3:00 AM.

4:30 AM.

As soon as the first grey light of dawn touched the window, I slid out of bed. I didn't turn on the lights. I grabbed the bag, stepped into my shoes, and eased the bedroom door open.

The house was deathly quiet. I stepped around the floorboard that creaked near the stairs and moved like a ghost through the kitchen.

I slipped out the side door and walked two blocks before I even dared to start my car.

I drove to a small, independent co-working space on the edge of the neutral district. It was a place for humans and rogues, where nobody asked questions.

I sat in a back corner booth, the blue light of the monitor reflecting in my eyes as I plugged in my encrypted drive.

The folders opened. Every core proprietary document for the Nightwood Logistics IPO was there. I started the manual copy process, page by page.

I looked at the timestamps on the original files. Most were from 3:00 AM three years ago. I remembered those nights vividly. I remembered sitting in my home office, the only light coming from the screen, while the rest of the house was silent.

Tristain would be upstairs, sleeping soundly after a pack dinner where he’d taken all the credit for my latest expansion.

"You're working too late again, Lola," he had said back then, leaning against the doorframe with a glass of water, the same water that had started the cancer.

"I just need to finish this routing algorithm," I told him, not looking up.

"It’s just logistics, love. Don't stress your pretty head. I'm the Alpha, I'll handle the investors."

I had believed him. I had worked through the fever, through the exhaustion, building a billion-dollar empire from a laptop while he played at being a leader. I hit 'print' and watched the machine spit out the evidence of his theft.

Once the documents were secure in my bag, I pulled up a flight booking site. I didn't search for Lola Herdez. I typed in Sarah Miller. I used a pre-paid credit card I’d kept in my emergency kit since the first month I suspected something was wrong.

One-way to Austin. Departs in two hours.

I drove toward the airport, my grip so tight on the steering wheel that my fingers started to ache. My wolf was pacing.

She wasn't sick today. She was vibrating with a strange, electrical energy. Every time I looked in the rearview mirror, I expected to see the black SUV of the pack guards.

I reached the terminal and parked in the long-term lot. I didn't take my car; I took the keys. I walked into the terminal, keeping my head down, my hoodie pulled low.

The airport was crowded. People were rushing to gates, children were crying, and the smell of Cinnabon filled the air.

I made it to the security line. I placed my duffel bag on the belt and stepped through the metal detector. It didn't beep.

I stood on the other side, waiting for my bag to emerge. I just needed that bag. Then I was gone.

"Sarah Miller?"

The voice was cold and familiar. A hand clamped onto my upper arm, fingers digging into the muscle like iron hooks. I jolted, trying to pull away, but the grip only tightened.

I looked up. It was Jax, Tristain’s head of security. He wasn't in a uniform.

He was wearing a casual jacket, but his eyes were fixed on mine with a terrifying intensity.

"Let go of me," I whispered, glancing around. People were walking right past us.

Jax leaned in close, his breath hot against my ear. He hissed the words so low only a wolf could hear them. "You’re not getting on that plane, Lola."

"I have a ticket. I’m leaving."

"No, you're not." He jerked my arm, forcing me to turn away from the gate.

"Tristain is waiting for you at home. He's very unhappy about the early morning stroll."

"How did you find me?"

"You think we don't monitor every flight booked in this state?" He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.

"You're a dying woman, Lola. You're confused, you shouldn't be wandering around airports alone."

"I'm not going back to that house."

"You don't have a choice." Jax started dragging me toward the exit, his strength far exceeding mine.

"We can do this the quiet way, or I can tell these humans you’re having a mental breakdown and carry you out in zip-ties. Which one do you want?"

I looked at my bag, still sitting on the security belt.

"My bag," I said.

"Forget the bag. Tristain already has the originals." Jax pulled me through the glass doors toward the curb. "Now, get in the car."