The next morning
Amara lay on her bed, phone hovering above her face as she scrolled aimlessly. Messages from friends sat unread. Her room was quiet except for the low hum of the fan.
The door creaked open.
She didn't need to look to know who it was.
"Amara."
She sighed. "Hi, Dee."
Adaeze stepped inside and shut the door behind her, arms folded—not angry, just observant. She leaned against the wall for a moment, studying her younger sister like she was piecing something together.
"I talked to your friends today," Dee said calmly.
Amara's fingers stiffened around her phone.
"Oh."
"They said you don't study with them much anymore," Dee continued. "And when you say you're with them… you usually aren't."
Silence stretched between them.
"I didn't go to Mom or Dad," Dee added. "I wanted to hear it from you first."
Amara swallowed and sat up. There was no point lying—Adaeze had that look. The one she used when she already knew the truth.
"I've been with Tolu," Amara said quietly.
She braced herself.
Adaeze blinked… then chuckled.
Amara frowned. "You're not angry?"
"Angry?" Dee laughed softly, shaking her head. "Honestly, that's better than what I was thinking."
Amara's eyes widened. "What were you thinking?"
Adaeze waved a hand dismissively. "Trust me. You don't want to know."
That earned a laugh from Amara, tension draining from her shoulders.
Adaeze pushed off the wall and sat beside her on the bed. "Look, I get it. You're seventeen, not seven. And Tolu isn't some random troublemaker."
Amara nodded quickly. "He's not."
"I know," Dee said. Then her tone shifted—gentler, firmer. "But remember whose daughter you are. Remember how Mom raised us. Don't do anything stupid just because you feel free."
Amara met her eyes. "I won't."
Adaeze studied her for a moment, then nodded. "Good. I won't tell them. But don't make me regret it."
"I won't," Amara promised.
Adaeze stood, ruffling Amara's hair lightly as she headed for the door. "Get some rest. And answer your friends sometimes so they don't think you've joined a cult."
Amara laughed. "No cults. Promise."
Adaeze paused at the door, glanced back once more, then smiled faintly before leaving.
The door closed.
Amara lay back against her pillow, staring at the ceiling, her heart oddly warm.
"Thanks, Dee," she whispered.
Outside her room, the house settled into its usual quiet—normal, safe, unchanged.
Even if she wasn't anymore.
---
The place was quiet.
Not deep in the forest, not out in the open either — just a stretch of land where the noise of the city faded and the trees began to thin. The kind of place people passed without really noticing. Tolu was already there when Amara arrived, sitting on a fallen log, elbows resting on his knees, staring at the ground like he was weighing something heavy.
Amara slowed when she saw him.
"You look like you're about to declare war," she said lightly as she stopped in front of him.
He glanced up. "Feels like it."
She sat beside him, close enough that their shoulders almost touched. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The evening air was cool, the sky dimming into orange and purple.
"So," Amara said eventually. "This is it."
Tolu nodded. "Once we start… we can't undo it."
She folded her legs, serious now. "Yeah. Turning someone isn't like training. You're changing their entire life."
"And if I get it wrong," he added, "it's not just on them. It's on everyone connected to them."
Amara looked at him sideways. "You're overthinking."
He scoffed softly. "You say that like it's a bad thing."
"It is," she replied. "Because you care. Which means you're already doing better than most alphas."
That made him pause.
She reached into her bag and pulled out the files they'd already gone through, setting them between them. "The question isn't if we turn someone. It's who goes first."
Tolu stared at the stack. "First matters."
"It always does," Amara agreed. "The first one sets the tone for the pack. What you stand for. What kind of leader you are."
He exhaled slowly. "Then it shouldn't be about power."
She smiled faintly. "Good. Because I was hoping you'd say that."
She slid one file out and placed it on top.
"Ayo," she said quietly.
Tolu didn't hesitate. "Yeah."
"He didn't ask for strength," Amara continued. "He just wanted to survive. Turning him fixes his body, but more than that… it tells everyone what kind of pack this is."
"A pack that doesn't prey on the weak," Tolu said.
"A pack that protects them," she corrected.
They sat with that for a moment.
"And after him?" Tolu asked.
Amara tapped the bracelet on his wrist. "After him, we let this help us. We don't rush. We don't get greedy."
He glanced at her. "You're really serious about this."
She met his eyes without flinching. "I'm your beta. This succeeds or fails with you."
He chuckled quietly. "You really took that role and ran with it."
She grinned. "Someone has to keep you from doing something stupid."
He shook his head, smiling despite himself. "Alright. Ayo goes first."
Amara nodded, satisfied. "Good. Then we prepare properly."
Tolu stood, brushing dirt from his hands. "Tomorrow."
She stood too. "Tomorrow."
They started walking back toward the city, side by side, the files secured, the decision made.
Somewhere ahead, a line had been crossed.
And neither of them looked back.
---
Tolu slowed as the warehouse came into view.
It wasn't the kind of place people imagined when they heard warehouse. No rust. No broken windows. The structure was solid concrete and steel, freshly built, its exterior clean and deliberately plain — the kind of building your eyes slid past without interest.
"This was a gift from Ige and Tade," Tolu said as they approached. "Not exactly… cheap."
Amara whistled under her breath. "They really don't do half-measures."
Inside, the air was cool and dry. The ground floor opened into a wide space reinforced with steel beams. Heavy chains hung neatly along the walls, not random, but placed with purpose. Cages lined one side, thick bars, reinforced locks.
Amara walked slowly, running her fingers along the metal. "Wow," she murmured. "We're going to need this."
"For training," Tolu said. "Containment too… if someone loses control."
She nodded, not joking now. "Good. Better to be prepared than sorry."
They climbed the stairs to the second floor.
The space shifted immediately from industrial to livable. A clean kitchen sat to the side, modern appliances still wrapped in plastic. A large living area followed — couches arranged around a low table, a wide TV mounted on the wall.
Next to it were three screens.
"One for entertainment," Amara said, counting. "And the other two…"
"CCTV," Tolu confirmed. "Full perimeter coverage."
She smiled. "Of course."
Beyond the living space was the sleeping area. Bunk beds lined the walls, neatly spaced, each with a wardrobe at the foot. It was simple, but intentional — built for a group that was meant to grow.
"This feels… real," Amara said quietly. "Like a home, not just a hideout."
Tolu didn't respond immediately.
At the far end of the floor, a single door stood apart.
He pushed it open.
Inside was a private room — larger bed, a solid desk with a chair, a wardrobe pushed against the wall. It wasn't flashy, but it carried weight.
Authority.
On the wall opposite the bed hung a painting of a forest, dense and shadowed.
Tolu frowned slightly.
He stepped closer and moved the painting aside.
Behind it was a large steel safe embedded into the wall.
Amara blinked. "Of course there's a safe."
Tolu keyed in the pin without hesitation. The lock clicked open. He glanced inside — documents, sealed folders, neatly stacked bundles — then closed it again just as quietly.
He stepped back, scanning the room one last time.
"This space will do," he said.
Amara looked at him, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Yeah," she said. "It really will."
They stood there for a moment longer — alpha and beta — in the place that would become the heart of something dangerous, powerful, and very real.