The night was silent, but Ayla's mind was anything but.
She sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the map. The names blurred together, but the one that stood out—the name that twisted like a knife in her chest—was the one she had hoped never to see again. Emilia. Her own sister. The one who had once been her confidante. The one who had shared her hopes and dreams—before the world had shattered.
Before the apocalypse.
Before betrayal.
Ayla's fingers trembled, but her resolve remained strong. Emilia hadn't just betrayed her. She had sold her out. For what? Power? Survival? Her own safety?
No. It didn't matter.
The question that haunted her now wasn't why Emilia had done it—it was what Ayla was going to do about it.
---
The soft hum of the camp filtered through the walls, a stark contrast to the storm brewing inside her. Ayla knew she had no time to waste. Every minute spent agonizing over the past was a minute wasted. The world was falling apart, and she wasn't going to let her family's lies be her undoing.
She glanced at the door, feeling the weight of Jaxon's words from earlier still hanging in the air. "You think you're in control?"
She was.
At least, she had to be.
Her gaze flicked to the map again. The Morettis had their claws in everything. From the highest factions to the deepest corners of the apocalypse's underbelly, their influence stretched far. But that was the game she was playing now. A game of power, of survival, and of revenge.
She wasn't just going to survive.
She was going to make them all regret underestimating her.
---
The Ashen stronghold buzzed with quiet activity as Ayla slipped through the halls, her footsteps light and purposeful. She had learned quickly that the best way to gather information was to keep her eyes open and her mouth shut. Jaxon might think he had control over her, but she was playing him just as much as he was playing her.
She turned a corner, nearly colliding with a figure stepping out of the shadows.
"Don't sneak up on me like that," Ayla muttered, her hand instinctively reaching for the dagger strapped to her thigh.
The man didn't flinch. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and wore the Ashen uniform with a sense of authority. His eyes were cold—practically emotionless—but there was something in them, a flicker of recognition, that made Ayla pause.
"You're Ayla," he said, his voice rough but steady.
She nodded, watching him carefully. "That's right. Who are you?"
He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "You don't want to be here. It's not safe. Not for someone like you."
Ayla raised an eyebrow. "Someone like me?"
He took another step forward, glancing down the hallway before meeting her gaze again. "Someone who's too dangerous to be ignored. Jaxon… he's got plans for you."
Ayla felt a knot tighten in her stomach. "What kind of plans?"
The man hesitated, then shrugged. "The kind that benefit him. He's using you. But he's also afraid of you."
That caught her attention. "Afraid of me?" she asked, the words tasting foreign on her tongue.
He nodded. "He knows what you're capable of. And he's scared. The Morettis, they're not just a family. They're a dynasty. And you're a threat to their power. To all of them."
Ayla's pulse quickened. "What's your point?"
The man smirked, his eyes narrowing. "My point is that if you want to take them down, you'll need more than just a map and a dagger. You'll need allies. Real allies. People who aren't afraid to die for you."
Ayla's gaze darkened. "I don't need anyone's help."
"Not yet," he replied. "But you will."
Before she could respond, he stepped back into the shadows, disappearing as quickly as he had appeared.
---
Ayla stood there for a long moment, the weight of his words pressing down on her. Allies. Trust. The idea felt foreign, almost ridiculous. The world she lived in didn't make room for soft-hearted alliances or promises of loyalty. But the more she thought about it, the more the idea began to make sense.
She couldn't do this alone. Not if she wanted to bring her family to their knees.
---
The next few days passed in a blur of activity—missions, intel, and silent meetings with the Ashen's key members. Ayla kept her focus sharp, her mind constantly calculating her next move. She had learned a lot in the short time she had been with the Ashen. There were cracks in their empire, and she was starting to see where she could exploit them.
But her plans were interrupted by an unexpected visit.
Jaxon.
He appeared in the doorway of her quarters, his presence commanding. He stood there for a moment, his eyes scanning the room, before locking onto her.
"I need you to come with me," he said, his tone cool, almost too calm.
Ayla didn't move. "Why?"
"I have a job for you. Something that requires a… special touch." His lips curled into a smirk that didn't reach his eyes.
Ayla didn't trust him. She never had. But she also knew that he wasn't stupid. If he wanted her for something, it meant she was valuable. And that made her dangerous.
"I'm listening," she said, crossing her arms.
Jaxon's smirk deepened. "The Morettis are making their move. They're trying to solidify their hold on the city, and they think they can do it by taking out the Ashen. I need you to infiltrate their ranks. Gain their trust. Get close to them."
Ayla's stomach churned. The Morettis. The family that had once been her blood—her flesh—now represented everything she hated. Everything she wanted to destroy.
"I'm not your pawn," she said flatly, her voice colder than she intended.
Jaxon took a step closer, his eyes never leaving hers. "You're already playing the game, Ayla. You're just not smart enough to realize it yet."
She stared at him, refusing to be intimidated. "I'll do it. But you'll owe me. And I'm collecting."
Jaxon's eyes flickered with a strange mix of admiration and amusement. "We'll see."
---
That night, Ayla lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, her thoughts racing. This was it. The moment where everything changed. If she could get close to the Morettis, if she could play them like they had once played her, she could have everything. Power. Vengeance. Control.
But there was something else, something nagging at the back of her mind. Jaxon. The Ashen. The Morettis.
Everyone had their own agenda.
And Ayla? She was playing them all.