Star Harbor – Seventeen Years Ago
The port city was alive with noise—ships unloading crates, workers shouting, the smell of saltwater mingled with the heavy stench of fuel. But for one child, that day was the end of innocence.
Luna Whitecliff, just eleven years old, clutched the hem of her dress as she wandered the narrow alleys near the harbor. Her father, Dr. Mason Whitecliff, had promised to take her to the beach after finishing work. But that day, he hadn't returned home. Instead, word had spread like wildfire: Mason had died in an accident. A fire, they said. A tragic mistake in the lab.
Luna didn't understand. Her world had collapsed in hours. And before she could grieve, men with harsh eyes and rough hands cornered her in the alley.
"Come quietly," one hissed, the stench of alcohol heavy on his breath.
