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Chapter 1

‘Cherry Cola’

The crisp air hits my lungs hard, sharp as metal. Ice coats the bark chips at the dog park, and Monster’s paws crunch through them with a brittle snap. The ball drops from his jaws. 

I bend to grab it but he slams into my side. Jaws clamped on my arm.

Fast. Low. Violent. I stagger a step before catching myself.

Grunting, I spin, grab his scruff, and pin him in one practiced motion. He thrashes beneath me—pure muscle and stubborn energy.

“NO JUMP.” My command is sharp and controlled. 

It has to be.

No mistaking my intention—or my irritation. 

I ease up. 

At eight months, Monster is already a black-and-white giant, but he’s still a puppy. His eyes flick, looking for an opening. A miracle escape. 

There is none. He lays there panting. For a second, I’m not sure if he will yield. But his breath starts to slow.

He accepts it.

He accepts me.

Not everyone does.

Once his body settles, I release him slowly. He rises without fuss and trots off, circling the ball and me in a wide loop. After one full lap, he returns. Sits in front of me—ears perked, eyes locked on the ball.

The drama is over. Ready again.

I cock my arm back and launch the ball with full force across the dog park, watching it cut across the sky–it clips a low branch and veers off to the side.

Monster streaks after it, a blur of black and white fur. Just Monster and me, alone at the dog park. Jasper wouldn’t come out here.

Too exposed.

The park is empty because the curfew is still in effect. I don’t care. It’s always worth it. Not like I can risk taking him out around during normal hours, animal control might see us.

I don’t want him to hurt anyone else. 

The early morning air is still and crisp. I listen to the leaves rustling and birds lifting off somewhere nearby. Peaceful. Serene. Too quiet.

Pulling out a frosted dog-bone pastry, I snap it in half. 

Holding one piece in my right hand, I raise my palm high toward Monster.

“Come!”

Recognition sparks in his eyes. Calmly, he trots over–then pauses halfway, glancing over to the right. 

I don’t hear anything.

Still watching to the side, he moves to me.

Now in front of me, he sits on his haunches, mouth closed, bright sky blue eyes wide. His fur is deep black, with small patches of white on his face. 

I let the moment linger.

One. Two.

“Good come!” I say in my overly enthusiastic voice. 

Handing him the treat, he crushes the cookie with his alligator jaws. While he’s distracted, I slip the head harness over his face. He lets me–but his ears flick back.

A small breath leaves me.

This wasn’t always such an easy task.

There was a time he would’ve snapped—fast, defensive, teeth first. Hands near his face meant danger. His whole body used to recoil like it was wired for it. I saw it in his eyes the day he bit that man almost a month ago now. I barely got the leash around his neck before dragging him out of the park. 

There was so much blood.

I still wonder what happened to him. He was in a cardboard box behind the Circle Jay. Hungry, whimpering, alone.

I know how that feels. 

When everyone walks by, and no one sees you.

The sensation of invisibility is hollow, cold and empty. As if you don’t matter in this world.

I shove the thought down quickly.

As I guide him toward the gate, something feels off. Like someone is watching me. Pausing, I feel like something is… final. My shoulders tighten. The hair on my arms rises. 

Monster’s reacting too—back arched, fur lifting.

He doesn’t do that for nothing.

I listen, but he hears it first. 

He always does. A slow rumbling noise echoed in the distance. Deep, like the Earth was growling. 

Slowing my pace, I scan the street.

Nothing. 

I shake it off.

Keep moving.

We round the corner, passing neat, quiet suburban homes. A sharp envy cuts through me as I take in the wide yards, the multi-bedroom houses, the garages big enough to fit two Hummers.

Like I missed something everyone else was given. 

Shaking my head, I scan the neighborhood again. Nobody’s out. Clearly the curfew hasn’t been lifted yet.

Passing a Honda Civic, I catch my reflection in the back window—messy hair, dark and cut above my shoulders. My skin looks almost translucent in the dull light—veins faint beneath it. My black leather jacket is smudged with dirt, smelling faintly of cedar. My faded green army pants are worn through the pockets from constant use.

I look away too fast.

Monster begins to tug nervously at the harness.

Not pulling. Warning.

I pause, wondering why—when doors start opening.

All at once. Too exact. 

My grip tightens as the Stepford Wives vibe hits hard. 

Women. Children. Men. 

All shoving belongings into their cars—fast, frantic. Something’s wrong. 

Very wrong.

My hand goes for my phone—empty pocket.

Still plugged in beside my bed.

Monster presses in close.

Something is very, very wrong.

Fuck.

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