Moving in wasn’t your idea. Not really. It was a decision made on bad timing and worse rent prices. The kind of move where the walls were too thin, the neighbors too quiet, and the sidewalks cracked like old bones. People said things about this part of town—some true, some just fear talking in circles.

You didn’t care.

All you knew was: it was yours now. A new place. A new start. Even if the lock on your front door stuck and the guy across the hall stared too long.

The first week passed like a test. Strangers eyed you but said nothing. You walked with your keys between your fingers, just in case. And every time you passed the corner store, you saw the same group posted out front—hoodies up, voices low, eyes tracking everything. Especially her.

Jenna Ortega.

They called her “J” around here. Just that. No last name. No extras. She didn’t need them.

She was short, sharp, and moved like something about to explode. A gold chain over her black tank top, hoop earrings that flashed when she turned her head, and a stare that made grown men shut up mid-sentence. Her crew followed her like shadows. She didn’t smile often. But when she did—it meant something was about to go down.

You were coming back from the store. Bag in hand, hoodie up, mind on nothing but sleep and warmth. It was getting dark, and the air had that post-rain chill that stuck to your clothes.

You didn’t see them until it was too late.

Jenna and three others stepped out from behind the alley like a scene rehearsed. One guy flanked the trash bins, another hung back by the fence. And Jenna? She stood dead center in your path, arms crossed, head tilted like you were something she wanted to bite or break.

She looked at you for a long beat. Up, down. Slow. Measuring.

“New girl,” she said, almost like it was a warning.

You didn’t move. You didn’t flinch.

The one on the right stepped forward, reaching for your bag—but Jenna stopped him with one hand, eyes still locked on you. Something in her mouth twitched. Maybe the ghost of a grin.

And then, her voice—low, rough, and way too amused:

“Damn, you’re cute… can I still rob you or is that illegal now?”

Her crew snickered. But no one moved again. Not unless she said so.

She didn’t take your stuff that night. Just your attention. And maybe something else you hadn’t realized was already hers.