Oril

I sink deeper into the couch of my music studio, tucked away in the quieter side of the city, far from the endless hustle and bustle. The silence here is thick, padded walls swallowing every stray sound, and though I love the noise of my pack, sometimes I need this solitude. Especially when I’m doing this.

My fingers move across the guitar strings, rhythmic and steady, the notes echoing faintly in the dim light. The room is cloaked in shadows, the only glow coming from the small lamp beside me.

"Have you ever been in l—" My voice cracks mid-note, breaking the fragile rhythm. I clear my throat, refusing to let it defeat me, and start again.

"Have you ever b—" This time my throat strains, the pain sharp and tearing through me. I stop, clutching my neck, frustration boiling. I reach for the seventh cup of honey water sitting on the table, gulping it down desperately. The sweetness coats my throat, offering only the faintest relief but it’s not enough to fix me.

I slam the glass back down with a thump, anger surging through me. My chest tightens, my lungs ache, and before I can stop myself, I hurl the guitar across the room. It crashes against the floor, like my dreams.

I was meant to be a star. I was meant to be glorious. Now I’m just a nobody, clinging to memories of the past.

Back in high school, I had the best voice anyone had ever heard. Augi filmed me singing at a school concert, and the video went viral overnight.

Everyone said I’d be the next big thing and for a time, I was. Record labels fought over me. My parents signed me with one before I even graduated. I released an album, and it went platinum, winning multiple awards.

My eyes drift to the wall, where those awards still hang, gleaming in the dim light.

They mock me now, reminders of what I once was. I sold out concerts. I was the most famous teen in the country while in school I was the guy everyone wanted to be. I felt untouchable, like a god.

That was when Torin chose me over Oracle, Oracle, the nerd, the forgotten brother to be his second leader. Torin came from an influential family, destined to inherit power, and he chose me to be his second in command. I was honored.

My parents were proud.

Everyone was proud.

I was proud.

My life was perfect. Until the fire.

The memory surges back, choking me. Smoke filling my lungs, flames licking at the walls, the world collapsing around me.

I inhaled too much smoke that day, and it scarred me forever. My lungs were damaged beyond repair. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t sing, not even for twenty seconds without pain tearing through me.

Overnight, I became a failure. My record label dropped me. My parents’ pride turned to disappointment. I wasn’t worth a second glance. The world moved on, forgot me. I became a one-hit wonder.

Oracle, the dark horse, rose in my place. He was smart, unlike me. He got into law school, became one of the top lawyers in the country and the apple of our parents’ eye. The better twin.

My phone vibrates in my pocket, pulling me from the spiral. I pull it out and see the caller ID: Cinnamon Buns. My bundle of joy. My omega. Just seeing his name lifts me, even if only a little.

"Hey, bundle of joy," I rasp, answering.

"Don’t ’hey’ me. Where are you? It’s almost 19:00pm," he snaps, his tone sour. He’s in a mood.

I blink, realizing how quickly time has passed. "You sound upset. Did something happen?"

"I’ll tell you when you’re back. Hurry up." He hangs up before I can say more.

I stare at the phone, my chest tightening. He’s definitely upset. Something went down while I wasn’t there. I need to hurry back before he comes to drag me out himself.

As I rise from the couch and my phone vibrates again. My stomach knots. I fear it’s Walter. Slowly, I glance at the caller ID. Relief and dread mix together washes over me. It’s Torin, Business Suit Torin.

I answer quickly. He hates waiting. He wants his calls picked up on the first ring, always.

"Hi, Torin-sor-" He cuts me off mid-apolog sounding furious. "Why am I getting a call in the middle of a meeting that Augi’s in prison again?" His tone is different this time, angrier than usual, stripped of his typical detached I don’t care energy.

"Um... I tried to tell you yesterday," I stammer, my throat dry. "You just weren’t answering my calls."

"You didn’t try hard enough, Oril. Get him out. You are second in command, you should have done something by now. I shouldn’t have to tell you."

I grip the phone tighter, biting the inside of my lip. "Well, I did plan on getting him out. I even went to see him, but Oracle isn’t coming out of his room, so he can’t fight the case." My voice rises defensively, but Torin’s scoff cuts me down.

"Then get another lawyer. Oracle is not the only lawyer in the world. And if that’s above your abilities, then break down Oracle’s door and drag him out. What is so hard here? Do you have any idea how bad Augi being in prison looks on our pack? Do you understand how it affects the business?"

His words slam into me, heavy and relentless. Why am I being blamed for Augi’s predictable disaster?

"Oril," Torin continues, his voice colder now, "I’m not trying to be mean, but you need to up your game. Get your head out of the clouds. When I chose you as my deputy, it was because you were trustworthy, street-smart, capable and independent. But now? You’re none of that. You’re always cooped up in that dingy studio, which I’m sure you’re sitting in right now, instead of handling the Augi problem. Wake up. Understand this: your singing career is over. Your voice is never coming back. You’re in denial, worse than Augi’s denial. Move on already. It’s been years. Do something else with your life."

My throat goes even drier than it already was. Annoyance and hurt surge through me. Who does he think he is to lecture me? It’s my life. I can do whatever I want with it.

"You know Augi wouldn’t even be in jail if you weren’t halfway across the world," I snap, my tone dripping with venom. "If you actually did your job as pack leader none of this would have happened. I’ll try to get Augi out of jail, but get it through your head, you don’t control me or my life."

The line goes silent for a moment, heavy with tension.

Then Torin’s voice returns, low and cutting. "Yeah, I don’t control your life. I fund it." The line goes dead. He hangs up.

My lip quivers, rage boiling over. I hurl my phone across the room, and it shatters against the floor, landing beside the guitar I threw earlier. Bastard.

I’ll get a job soon enough. I’ll show him. I’ll prove I don’t need his money, his control, or his judgment. I’ll prove I’m more than the failure he thinks I am.