The quiet after a show always felt like a breath I didn’t know I was holding. The noise, the lights, the crowd—gone. Backstage hummed now with only the distant buzz of fluorescent lights overhead and the occasional creak of metal settling. Most of the crew had already packed up and left. It was just me, the near-silence, and the dull ache in my shoulders.
I stepped into the locker room, the faint scent of sweat and fabric softener clinging to the air. A half-full water bottle sat abandoned on the bench. Someone’s towel was draped over the back of a folding chair, forgotten in the rush to leave. I moved toward my spot, kneeling by my gear bag. The zipper rasped as I opened it, muscle memory guiding my hands. My elbow pads were the first to come off—damp with effort, slightly frayed at the edges. I was just about to toss them inside when something white caught the corner of my eye.
I froze. There, tucked neatly between my folded hoodie and my spare gloves, was a small envelope. No name. No logo. No stamp. Just… sitting there like it belonged. My stomach tightened. I reached for it slowly, cautiously. The paper was thick, not the cheap kind used for notes or schedules—this felt like parchment. I slid my thumb under the flap and peeled it open. One line. Handwritten. Slanted, looping letters I hadn’t seen in years.
“My little Crywing. Still looking for someone to protect you?”
Everything in me turned to ice. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. The envelope trembled between my fingers as I read it again. Then again. My gaze locked on the way the “C” in “Crywing” curved too far under itself. That hook at the bottom—it was burned into my memory. I’d seen it so many times… scrawled on notes left outside my bedroom door. After every lecture. Every punishment. Every time he needed to remind me who I belonged to.
A chill traced its way up my spine, slow and suffocating. My heartbeat roared in my ears. I spun around so fast my vision blurred.
Empty. The benches. The lockers. The dim corners of the room. Nothing. No sound except the buzzing lights and my own uneven breathing. But I knew. Deep in my gut, deep in my bones—I knew. This wasn’t a joke. This wasn’t some twisted prank by a bored crew member. No one else knew that name. No one else would dare. He’d found me.
And worse… he was watching. I clenched the envelope tighter, the edges biting into my palm. My chest burned with the need to scream, to run, to do something. But I didn’t. Not yet. No one could know—not until I was sure. Not until I had proof. I shoved the note into the bottom of my gear bag, burying it beneath clothes and tape and the trembling fear I refused to let surface. I locked my jaw and straightened my spine.
It was probably nothing. A coincidence. That’s what I told myself. And I almost believed it.
135Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡAOEuyIltg9
Weeks had passed since I found that damn envelope. I hadn’t told anyone. Not Cody. Not Kane. Not even Undertaker. Especially not them. I didn’t want their pity, and I sure as hell didn’t want their protection. I was supposed to be the one watching out for them. That’s what I did. That’s what I’d always done since joining WWE.
I stopped sleeping. Not entirely, but enough that it felt like I was always running on fumes. I’d close my eyes and see that damn envelope waiting for me again. Hear his voice whispering Crywing like it was a sweet lullaby and not a razor across my spine. I thought if I ignored it, it would go away. Instead, it clung to me—slowly pulling threads until I started unraveling.
Matches got harder to focus on. Spots I could normally hit blindfolded? I hesitated. Missed timing. Pulled punches too early or too late. I could feel the judgment from the others, even if no one said it outright. But worse was the way they looked at me. Concerned. Confused. Pitiful.
Backstage, I was a live wire.
“Hey Angel, great match—”
“Yeah, save it,” I snapped at LA Knight before he could even finish. He blinked, caught off guard. I didn’t wait for him to recover. Later, Bianca caught me pacing in the hallway outside catering.
“You okay?” she asked gently, stepping into my space like she always did when she was trying to be the big sister.
“I’m fine,” I muttered.
“You sure? You look like you haven’t slept in—”
“I said I’m fine!” I barked, sharper than I intended. Her expression faltered, wounded. She didn’t say anything else. Just walked away. That silence was worse than if she’d screamed back. Even Randy got the short end of me one night after he joked that I looked like I’d been dragged through a tornado.
“Careful, Randy,” I said through gritted teeth, “before I start throwing RKO’s just to shut people up.”
He held up his hands with a smirk, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Damn. Alright, Angel. Message received.”
I hated myself for it. Every time. But the minute someone looked at me like they cared, I’d lash out. I couldn’t afford anyone close. Not now. But when it came to Cody… I couldn’t help myself. When Brandi and Liberty showed up at his matches, I started shadowing them like a freaking bodyguard. I’d make sure their RV door was locked. Walk them out of the arena. Hover near the ramp until Cody’s match ended, just in case. “You’re acting like someone’s gonna kidnap us in the parking lot,” Brandi joked once, looping Liberty’s backpack over her shoulder.
I didn’t laugh. I just handed her a pepper spray keychain and muttered, “Better to have it than not.”
Cody cornered me that night. “Angel,” he said, arms crossed, voice low but firm, “what’s going on?”
I shrugged, avoiding his eyes. “Just being careful. This place is crazy.”
“You’ve always been careful,” he said. “But this is different. You’re jumpy. You flinch at shadows. And you just told LA to go screw himself for offering you a water bottle.”
I scowled. “Maybe he should mind his business.”
Cody didn’t flinch, but I could see the tension in his jaw. “You’re spiraling,” he said quietly. “Whatever this is… you don’t have to handle it alone.”
But I did. Because dragging Cody into this darkness would mean dragging Liberty into it, too. And I couldn’t let that happen. So I pushed him away, same as the others.
Only in the ring, the mask slipped completely. Anytime we spilled into the crowd during a match and I spotted a kid at ringside, I’d shift my body automatically—blocking them, shielding them from chairs or bodies flying too close. Even if it blew the spot. Even if people noticed.
I didn’t care. Because every time I saw a child, I thought of Liberty. And every time I thought of Liberty, I heard the word Crywing echo in my head like a death sentence.
He was watching. Somewhere. And no one else saw it coming but me.
135Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ09TaJOXbA1
I knew Cody was looking out for me since he picked up that I wasn’t myself. He wasn’t obvious about it—just little glances between sets, a tilt of his head when I walked past him in the halls like he was trying to solve a puzzle he couldn’t quite see the edges of. At first, he joked, just lightly, testing the waters. “You’re wound tighter than Randy on coffee lately,” he said one night, grinning as we stood backstage watching the monitors.
I forced a smirk. “Please. I’m still the picture of grace under pressure.”
“Uh-huh.” His tone was playful, but his eyes weren’t. “So the ref in your last match just tripped into the barricade on his own, huh?”
“Absolutely. Gravity’s a bitch.”
Cody laughed, but it didn’t last. The silence that followed was heavy, and I could feel him staring at me, like he wanted to peel back the layers until he got to the truth.
Later that night, after the crowd was gone and the crew started tearing down the ring, he cornered me near the loading dock. “Angel,” he said, his voice low, serious. “What’s going on with you?”
I blinked, hard, as if that would reset me. “Nothing.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
“I’m not—” I exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through my hair. “I’m fine. Just tired. Long tour, a million cities, endless flights. You know how it is.”
He didn’t move. Didn’t blink. “That’s not it.”
I looked him dead in the eyes and pulled out the sarcasm like a shield. “What, can’t a girl have a mental breakdown in peace anymore?”
“Angel.”
That one word. Soft. Pleading. And it almost cracked me.
Almost. But I couldn’t do that to him. Couldn’t let him into the place where the shadows were crawling and the silence screamed with old memories. Cody had enough on his plate. He had Brandi, Liberty… his life didn’t need my ghosts haunting it. So I forced a smile, patted his chest. “I’m good, Commander. Go check on your girls.”
He didn’t believe me. But he let it go. For now.
It wasn’t until a week later, after I snapped at a rookie ref during a backstage promo—nothing major, just enough to leave him stammering and confused—that Kane finally stepped in. I found him waiting in the hallway outside the trainer’s room. Arms crossed. That quiet kind of angry that made your stomach knot before a word was even said. “You done?” he asked.
“With what?”
“Pretending you’re okay.”
I scoffed. “Oh great, did Cody send you?”
“No,” he said flatly. “This is me. Watching my sister implode from thirty feet away.”
“Implode? Please, you’d know if I was imploding—there’d be fire and pyro and screaming.”
“Angel.”
That stopped me. The way he said it. Gentle, but like iron beneath the calm. I folded my arms, defiant. “I’m just… under pressure, okay? Nothing I can’t handle.”
“You snapped at a ref for walking too close to you. You haven’t slept in days. You flinch when someone taps your shoulder.”
I opened my mouth to retort—but I couldn’t. Because he was right. Then he said it. “We got a note, too. Me and Taker.”
Everything in me froze.
“What?”
He nodded, slowly. “About two weeks before you did. Same handwriting. Same nickname.”
Crywing.
My blood ran cold. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me?” My voice was low, sharp.
“Because we didn’t want to panic you. I thought it might be a bluff.”
“And he didn’t?” I asked, voice cracking.
“Taker wanted to tell you the moment it showed up. I talked him out of it.”
“You talked him out of it?” I laughed bitterly. “Wow. Glad we’re all playing gatekeeper with my life now.”
“Angel—”
“No. Don’t ‘Angel’ me like I’m some reckless kid who can’t handle the truth.” I shoved past him, pacing. My fists were clenched so tight they shook. “You both just decided to lie to me? You don’t get to do that.”
“We were trying to protect you!”
“I don’t need your protection,” I snapped. “I need your trust.”
Kane didn’t flinch, but I saw something flicker in his eyes. Regret. Maybe shame. “You kept this from me. You lied. And now I’m losing it, and you wonder why?”
He stepped closer, voice low. “Because we were scared. Just like you are.”
I stopped moving. He was right. I was terrified, and I couldn’t blame them for being scared too. And hearing that they’d gotten the same note didn’t make me feel less crazy. It made it real. I didn’t say another word. I couldn’t. My throat was tight and my hands wouldn’t stop shaking. I turned and walked away—no, stormed off. I didn’t know where I was going. I just knew I couldn’t stay. Not there. Not with him. Not with the betrayal still buzzing in my ears.
I made it around the corner before I had to lean against the wall, swallowing the scream building in my chest. He was watching all of us. And now I felt more alone than ever.
ns216.73.217.31da2
and then Add to home screen.