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Coupé had never cared much for birthdays.
Back when she worked for the Mob, they hardly even celebrated holidays, much less each other. That’s just the way things were. Missions didn’t go away just because a new year began, or because the belief of a false god sent a few fireworks into the sky.
In fact, her birthday actually marked the anniversary of one of her very first kills.
The target had been some second-rate accountant tasked with embezzling funds for the Mob. She wasn’t half bad at her job either. Always made sure to keep the books clean and her head down, burying any discrepancies underneath mountains of paperwork. It was such a shame when her payments began to dwindle. Perhaps she would have been spared, had she kept her greed in check.
Coupé could still remember the accountant’s gurgled screech, cut short by the rush of blood spilling into her airway. She remembered watching as the fear in those eyes faded into something blank and hollow. A vessel without its pilot.
After the deed was done, she wiped the blood from her knuckles with a crumpled napkin. It had been exhilarating, in a way. Watching the blood soak into the words stamped across the brown paper. Staining the sentiment with her wicked victory.
‘Happy Sweet 16th,’ the napkin read. And it had been, hadn’t? How ironic that the day Coupé was born also marked the day she’d taken a life with her very own hands.
Though she’d soon learn that those days would be many, and that the missions she was sent on were just that: missions. There were no people. Only objectives. And if she hesitated… if she failed, then maybe her name would be next on someone else’s list.
So no. Birthdays didn’t really mean much to Coupé. She had been more focused on surviving than eating cake with her previous employers. Her captors.
The Mob had watched her for months before abducting her, observing the development of her gifted abilities from the same shadows she’d later learn to seek refuge in.
And once she began showing signs of her secondary—of being an Alpha—that was all they needed to make their move, whisking poor little Janelle away and training her up to become something tougher than steel and colder than ice. Someone who wouldn’t hesitate to twist the knife. The deadliest woman in their arsenal.
In the old stories her mother used to read to her, Alphas were always portrayed as providers. It was an Alpha’s job to provide care to their pack. To provide safety. For an Alpha, to provide was to love. And to love was an honor that she would gladly trip over her own feet to race toward, clawing at gravel with bloodied, raw fingers for even the tiniest glimpse of glorious purpose. She yearned to feel that beautiful warmth explode from her chest, nestling deep into her gut like a rabbit seeking shelter from the cool winter air.
But the Mob wasn’t looking for a provider. They were looking for someone who would take without question. A mere hound dog, willing to cut down anyone that got in its master’s way.
They were more than happy to weaponize Coupé’s instincts, shaping her into something she never should have been to begin with. A soldier in a war she’d never asked to be part of. An angel forced into flight with the very wings they’d torn from her back.
Now that she wasn’t tied down to the Mob, Shroud, or any other terrorist organization, it terrified her how badly she wanted to change from the person she’d been trained to become.
But she also knew that if there was any hope of her ever flying again, it would have to be on her own terms.
It started small.
An iced latte for Robert here. A pack of sour gummies for Invisigal there. And as time went on, that need to provide only grew. After Prism took an interest in one of her favorite novels, Coupé spent hours sorting through her personal library to set aside other books she was sure the pop star would enjoy. She even left out mouse traps to catch fresh prey for Sonar.
Eventually, she even began joining in on Phenomaman’s Magic: The Gathering games. And though she enjoyed roleplaying, they both knew she was really there to provide Katon-Ur with a sense of belonging, just like she craved for herself.
It was a foreign feeling, coming back to one’s instincts after shoving them to the side for almost two decades. Like diving into ice cold water after spending an eternity in the desert. The shift was shocking. Painful, even.
But she’d never felt so alive in her life.
Still, despite all the time she poured into reinventing herself—reassembling herself into something worthy of a second chance of life—it was as though all that progress had been reset the moment she stepped foot into the office again.
Conversations died whenever she entered a room. People scattered when she got too close, stammering out excuses about errands they had to run while they rushed out the door.
Coupé tried not to read too much into it. There was a time when she would have done anything for that power. That fear. But now, it made her feel pitiful. As if she were some small, gross thing unworthy of love. Unwanted and alone.
Perhaps she’d misjudged things. Perhaps she’d mistaken their kindness for trust. After all, a provider was only welcome whenever they were wanted. And her pack already had more than enough Alphas without adding her into the mix.
So for the next few days, she stopped providing.
She stopped bringing lattes to Robert’s cubicle. She stopped buying candy for Invisigal between shifts. Stopped lurking by open doorways to ask if anyone needed anything while she was up. It was easier for her to retreat than to risk being shooed away. To risk being rejected all over again.
And when no one reached out to see if she was okay, Coupé told herself that it was for the best. That she could handle being on her own. After all, that’s what she was made to be, right? Just another lone wolf? A machine only capable of taking.
Besides, she’d already spent so much of her life in isolation.
Why would this be any different?
She made sure to remind herself of that as she made her way back to the office, fingers stiff and body aching. The second shift had been a demanding one, but at least it was finally over.
“Hey, Coupé!” Prism called, popping her head out from one of the conference rooms. “Can you come here for a sec?”
She froze.
Years of conditioning screamed at her to prepare for danger. To access her surroundings for the nearest possible exits and anticipate the worst-case scenarios.
Yet she obeyed, forcing her feet forward one step at a time.
The lights flicked on.
“Surprise—!”
Knives flew out in every direction before she could stop them, steel shrieking as they ripped free from her wings in an instant.
Prism yelped. Chairs screeched backwards. Decorations were shredded in midair as blades embedded themselves into the table and the walls. Streamers fluttered to the ground like butchered ribbons.
The scent of fear and adrenaline flooded the room like a tsunami. Coupé was quick to reel her own scent back. To conceal herself just as she’d been taught to do all those years ago.
“Woah!” Malevola exclaimed.
“Jesus, Coop!” Punch Up laughed. “It’s just us!”
Her breath hitched. He was right. It was just them. Her team. Honestly, what kind of Alpha was she if she couldn’t even recognize her own pack?
Shame wove itself into her skin as she raised a shaky hand, fingers trembling as she called her knives back to their respective places. They shuddered as they peeled themselves free, glistening above her like a halo of imminent death. A steel cage of her own making.
“I… apologize.”
“No-” Robert winced as he rubbed at the new cut on his forearm. “That’s on us. We should have warned you first.”
She nodded stiffly.
“Congra- I mean… uh,” Waterboy stuttered, holding a poorly frosted chocolate cake out in her direction. “H-Happy birthday?”
She blinked at him, surprised she hadn’t noticed him sooner. He was one of the first people she should have noticed as soon as the lights came on, what with his brightly colored uniform. Was she losing her touch? Had her situational awareness deteriorated?
Coupé took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down. She’d never be able to take anything in if her mind kept running a thousand miles per hour, veins pumped full of panic.
The cake was clearly homemade, lacking the clean cut edges and uniform patterns of a store-bought option. A handful of colorful wax candles had been confidently shoved into the center of the cake. The words ‘Happy Birthday, Coupé!’ had been shakily piped across the top, the writing smeared where the writer had clearly tried and failed to correct their mistakes.
“I-” She paused. “What… what is this?”
“Well, it was supposed to be a birthday thing,” Blonde Blazer said awkwardly. “But I can see why it came off as more of a… stress test. Sorry about that.”
She didn’t know how to respond to that.
The last time anyone gave her a cake, she was only five years old, living in a cramped flat on the outskirts of Lyon with her parents. Her mother had scraped together enough centimes for a single pastry from the boulangerie down the street. Her father stood guard by the door, watching for debt collectors while her mother sang softly to her in French.
It made her heart ache whenever she thought about it now. Her parents were poor. Always hungry. And eventually, they were gone. And while Coupé couldn’t quite remember their voices anymore, sometimes she liked to imagine how different her life would be if they were here to take part in it with her.
“Okay, enough chit-chat,” Flambae snapped, pulling a seat by the cake. “Let’s get this over with. I got a date later tonight.”
Before she could protest, Flambae lit the ridiculous cluster of wicks and stepped back, gesturing dramatically for her to sit down.
She leveled him with a cold glare, but slid into the empty seat nonetheless.
Someone turned the lights off again, and it took everything she had not to cringe when they started singing. Prism, of course, took the lead. Everyone else was painfully off-key. Punch Up struggled to clap out a consistent beat. Phenomaman tried and failed to harmonize with the group, somehow managing to hit a note that made the metal in her wings buzz uncomfortably against her back. Golem, however, did surprisingly well. His low baritone carried the happy tune effortlessly, reverberating throughout the room like a church organ.
Coupé smiled as the song ended in laughter and scattered applause. The smell of fear had dissipated as well, replaced by the sweet, earthy tones of contentment.
She felt herself purr quietly at the realization that they hadn’t been rejecting her at all. Her pack had simply been waiting for the right time to provide for her.
“So are you gonna make a wish or what?” Robert teased.
“Give her a second!” Blazer said lightly, resting a hand on the back of Coupé’s chair.
Coupé stared down at the flickering candles wistfully. It’d been some time since she’d truly asked herself what she wanted from this life. And even longer since she’d expanded past the idea that all she wanted was more. More love. More security. More stability.
But now, surrounded by her friends, she realized she had all that and more right in front of her.
She took a deep breath, and blew the candles out, letting the darkness take her not as a ghost, but as a woman finally coming into her own.