Austin Greene stood outside the gates of Farren Towers, his hands resting casually in the pockets of his jacket, but his eyes told a different story. They narrowed, thoughtful and wary, as he looked up at the glass-and-metal spire piercing the morning sky like a silver dagger. The tower glinted in the sunlight, a monument of ambition and unchecked influence.
Behind it, the Moonstone town square buzzed with morning activity: food vendors shouting prices, children weaving between vendor stalls, and business folk in tailored suits walking briskly past murals of old stone walls and modern glass storefronts. The old world met the new here, but Farren Towers loomed above it all, sleek and untouched by the rustic charm below.
As Austin stepped forward, the polished glass doors parted with a whisper, and he was greeted by cool air conditioning and the scent of fresh polish and money. The lobby was cathedral-high, lit with golden pendant lights shaped like crescent moons. White marble floors stretched wide, intersected with the deep burgundy rug running from the entrance to the reception desk. On the far wall hung a digital tapestry of the Farren Corporation's achievements; aid missions, infrastructure plans, "unity" campaigns. All carefully curated.
The receptionist was young, dressed immaculately in a velvet uniform blazer. She looked up from her screen as Austin approached, flashing a practiced smile.
"Good afternoon. Do you have an appointment?" she asked, fingers already hovering above her keyboard.
"I'm not sure," Austin replied honestly. "Name's Austin Greene."
There was a pause, the kind that hung in the air like a held breath. Her smile faltered, but only for a moment.
"Ah," she said, tone shifting ever so slightly. "Mr. Greene. You've been expected."
Austin blinked. Expected?
She tapped a few keys, then picked up the sleek black phone beside her. Within seconds, an elevator door dinged open and a tall man in a sharp gray suit stepped out, nodding toward Austin.
"If you'll follow Mr. Connors here, he'll escort you to the top floor."
Austin followed without a word. The elevator ride was smooth and silent, but in that silence, his mind wandered. How the hell did I get here already? I never sent in an official application. The more he thought about it, the clearer it became: this wasn't recruitment. It was a selection. He wasn't chosen randomly. He was hunted down.
The doors opened with a soft chime, revealing the top floor, a hallway of frosted glass walls, quiet carpets, and chrome trim. Mr. Connors gestured toward a pair of massive double doors.
"He's inside."
Austin took a breath and stepped in.
The office was a glass cathedral, offering a 360° view of Moonstone below. At its center sat a marble desk, wide and cold, behind which Alexander Farren himself stood. He was tall and composed, wearing a dark navy suit that probably cost more than Austin's entire wardrobe. His blonde hair was swept neatly back, eyes sharp and deliberate.
"Mr. Greene," Alexander greeted, stepping forward with his hand extended. "It's an honor to finally meet you in person."
Austin accepted the handshake. "Didn't realize I was on the calendar."
"Ah, but that's the beauty of foresight." Alexander smiled, gesturing to the seat across from him. "Please. Sit."
Austin did, never quite relaxing into the plush leather chair.
Alexander took his own seat, folding his hands on the desk. "You know, I've heard a lot about you. Former special forces. Tactical specialist. Led four high-risk black ops in Europe. Accomplished fields expert and medic. There's no shortage of talent under that quiet demeanor."
'Yeah, in the medic department', Austin thought raising a brow. "And who exactly told you all that?"
"A friend in the right places," Alexander replied smoothly. "I've been on the lookout for someone like you, Austin. Someone who understands power… and restraint."
Austin crossed his arms. "What exactly do you want me to do?"
Alexander leaned back, his tone easy but deliberate. "I've founded a security division under Farren Corp. Not the rent-a-guard kind. We're talking elite-level, trained professionals handling situations beyond what normal enforcement can manage."
"Situations like what?" Austin asked, voice flat.
Alexander's smile didn't waver. "Supernaturals. Rogue threats. The creatures hiding behind myth and shadow. If left unchecked, they're dangerous. Some already are."
Austin's brow furrowed. "You mean werewolves. Vampires. Witches."
"Among others," Farren confirmed. "Moonstone is changing and so is America and the rest of the world. The old world is bleeding into the new, and the systems we've relied on can't keep up. That's why I'm building something stronger. Smarter."
Austin's jaw tensed. He knew better than most what lay beneath the surface of this town. He'd loved a werewolf. He'd watched what happened when someone treated them like threats instead of people.
"And who decides what qualifies as 'dangerous'?" he asked.
Alexander shrugged lightly, like the weight of judgment was a feather. "I define danger the same way most people do: murderers, violent offenders, those who threaten the peace. This isn't a witch hunt, Mr. Greene. It's protection."
"But it could become one," Austin said, tone sharper now. "That's the risk."
"Which is why I need people like you," Alexander countered smoothly. "People with discipline. Honor. You've got a son, don't you?"
Austin stiffened. "Yeah."
"Wouldn't you sleep better knowing the streets were safe enough for him to walk without fear?"
That hit deeper than Austin expected. He held Farren's gaze, unreadable. The man knew exactly what strings to pull. But what bothered him more was how easily he played the tune.
"I left the special forces because I didn't want to die in a place where no one would bury me," Austin said quietly. "Didn't want to leave my son alone in the world."
"And you won't," Farren said, his voice now lower, intimate. "Our casualties are minimal to non. Every operative is protected, equipped, insured, backed. I can't afford to lose people. Not morally. Not financially. I need you alive, Austin."
Silence hung heavy for a beat.
Then Farren stood, pulling a leather folder from a drawer and sliding it across the desk. Inside: a preliminary contract. The figure on the first page made Austin blink twice. More money than he'd made in a decade of military service. By far.
"I want you to lead this team," Alexander said, voice steady. "Shape it. Make it better. You decide how the job's done. All I ask is that you help me build a world where your son can live free of fear."
Austin stared down at the folder.
This wasn't just about money. It wasn't even about duty. It was about leverage, control, influence over the world he'd tried to protect and hide from all at once. This offer was a double-edged sword, and he was being asked to grab it by the hilt.
Slowly, he closed the folder. Then stood.
Farren stood with him.
They shook hands.
Austin didn't smile.
"Let's see what beast I just agreed to hunt."
And as their hands met, the sun dipped behind a cloud outside the towering window, casting their silhouettes across the polished floor like shadows of men playing gods.
***
The lunch bell echoed through Moonstone Academy like a starting gun, releasing a flood of students from their classes into the sprawling cafeteria. Adam trailed behind Bryce, his unofficial guide, as they pushed through the swinging doors into a world completely unlike any school lunchroom he'd ever seen.
The space was huge, bright, and alive with a kaleidoscope of colors. Walls swirled with panels in vivid blues, oranges, and greens that reflected the sunlight streaming through skylights above. The design was modern and playful, curved lines replaced the usual harsh angles, and sleek metallic surfaces gleamed between patches of warm wood. It was more like a trendy café than a high school cafeteria, and Adam felt a flicker of awe as he looked around.
Students moved smoothly through the space, scanning ID cards at futuristic machines embedded in the counters. The devices chirped happily and dispensed plates loaded with everything from steaming pasta and grilled vegetables to bowls of fresh fruit and colorful salads. The scent of various cuisines mixed with the hum of conversation and clatter of cutlery.
Adam's stomach rumbled. He shifted awkwardly, realizing he didn't have an ID yet. Bryce caught the look on his face and smiled warmly.
"No worries," Bryce said, pulling out his wallet. "I've got you covered today. It's kind of a pain if you don't have an ID, but we'll sort that out soon."
Adam blinked at the kindness. "Thanks. I didn't expect that."
Bryce shrugged like it was no big deal. "Everyone's gotta start somewhere, right?"
As Bryce swiped his card and tapped the screen selection for his option, the machine popped out a bright orange plate piled with food. He handed it to Adam, who took a seat at a nearby table. The cafeteria was filled with the buzz of students catching up, laughing, and making plans. A few glanced over at Adam, whispering softly, but nothing too intrusive yet. Bryce's easy presence seemed to shield him.
Adam looked up at the west side of the cafeteria, where a large glass wall separated the middle schoolers upstairs. They ate in their own space, calm and orderly, visible but separate, like a bird watching from its cage. Adam thought the design was clever, giving the younger kids their own zone while letting everyone share the same atmosphere. On the eastern side was another extension, but it was still under construction. Adam could only wonder what the final product would look like
"Crazy setup," Adam said between bites. "It's like two cafeterias in one."
Bryce grinned. "Yeah, the school's pretty serious about keeping things smooth and organized. Helps with crowd control—and with keeping the little ones from getting overwhelmed."
Adam nodded, still taking it all in. Lunch felt less like a chore here and more like a social event. Students clustered in groups, some animatedly debating, others just relaxing. A few kids waved shyly at Adam, curiosity written all over their faces.
Adam shrugged, a little embarrassed. "Didn't expect that."
Bryce chuckled.
The rest of lunch passed with easy conversation between the two as Bryce filled Adam in on bits and pieces about the school's culture. It was hard to believe that such a polished and futuristic place still carried that old gothic cathedral look on the outside.
After lunch, the tour began.
The campus unfolded before him like something from a dream. At first glance, Moonstone Academy had the haunting elegance of an old cathedral, pointed arches, dark brick, tall towers veiled in creeping ivy. But once inside, it was anything but archaic.
The hallways were wide and filled with natural light. The walls, smooth, matte white, were interrupted by inset screens, glowing softly with announcements or school updates. The floor was silent underfoot, made of some polished material that didn't echo.
The school was vast. Two massive wings sprawled outward from the central administrative hall like twin arms. The West Wing, Bryce explained, was dedicated to the middle school students. Sleek lockers lined its quieter halls, and the classrooms were scaled for younger students.
The East Wing was where the real magic happened. Specialized classrooms designed for unique subjects, augmented reality environments, greenhouses for advanced botany, fully immersive language labs. The major hallway ending in the school's massive auditorium, a dome-shaped space that could seat hundreds beneath a ceiling that also functioned as a cinema hall on movie night. fitted with its own projectors and a retractable screen.
The library was quiet, cathedral-like in its stillness, and filled with soft shafts of light that filtered in from the high arching windows. It was a modern marvel: curved architecture, wooden bookshelves with embedded indexing screens, interactive study pods, neat round discussion tables, and serene ambient lighting that gave the whole place a futuristic yet scholarly feel.
Adam had been trailing Bryce through the school's east wing when they wandered into it. Bryce mumbled something about him browsing if he wanted and headed to the far side where a group of students were comparing notes.
Left to his own devices, Adam wandered between shelves until he spotted someone seated by the window, a thick hardcover open in her lap. Her raven-black hair fell in smooth waves, half hiding her face, and her posture was perfect, focused, self-contained. The subtle gold embroidery on her uniform collar marked her as someone important, or at least someone who carried herself that way.
It was Anissa.
Adam hesitated for a second before stepping forward.
"Hey," he offered, keeping his voice low out of respect for the atmosphere. "Didn't expect to see you here."
She didn't look up. "This is a library," she said dryly, flipping a page without glancing at him. "People tend to read here. Quietly"
"Fair," Adam replied, feeling a little awkward. "I meant, I wasn't sure I'd see anyone I recognized."
That earned him a slight glance. A single eye peeked up from behind the curtain of hair, measuring him.
"I thought you might go to some other school," she said simply, still not quite engaging.
Adam shrugged. "I almost didn't? I'm still figuring it out, to be honest."
He turned to walk away, thinking maybe he'd misread the vibe, but just before he moved out of earshot, her voice came again, softer.
"You made a good choice, though."
Adam looked back.
She closed the book gently, resting it on her lap now as she finally met his eyes directly. Her voice held less ice this time, and maybe even something like warmth.
"I know it's a lot to take in. This place… it gets easier. And if you ever need help, or just… someone who's not trying too hard," she gave him the tiniest smile, "you can find me here."
Adam blinked, caught off guard.
"Thanks. That means more than you think."
"Good," she said, opening the book again, but not quite dismissing him this time.
Adam took the cue and walked away, a strange flutter of curiosity following him as he went. Bryce was waiting just outside the aisle, arms crossed and eyes glinting.
"You've got something," he said.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean… for a new guy, you're making interesting friends."
Adam rolled his eyes. "It's not like that."
"Sure it's not," Bryce smirked. "Anyways, lets carry on."
Between the East and West Wings stood the heart of the campus: the central administrative building, crowned with a clock tower. Offices for staff, lounges for teachers, and more traditional classrooms were nested inside.
Connecting the wings were glass-covered gangways that formed a diamond shape when seen from above. At the core of this structure was the gym complex.
Adam's breath caught when they stepped into it.
A colossal, sun-drenched space greeted him. There was an indoor Olympic-sized pool, its waters still and shimmering. Beside it, in another room, a massive basketball court buzzed with life. He glimpsed a squash court, a gymnastics section, and a full-fledged training gym with chrome machines and weight racks that gleamed under the lights. All in their own separate rooms.
Behind the campus loomed the outdoor fields, the football field stretching out toward the western tree line, a lush soccer field, and even an expansive lacrosse ground. On the far east, horses grazed lazily in a fenced equestrian field, while archery targets stood neatly arranged at the far corner of the school, near the forest.
Beyond the tree line, a narrow river cut through the woods, its waters glinting beneath the late afternoon sun. An artificial waterfall had been constructed where the river touched the school grounds, just before the security fence began. It looked too beautiful to be real.
The sun had begun its slow descent, casting long golden beams over the sprawling soccer field as Adam and Bryce made their way toward the dormitory. They were walking along the gangway that connected the main classroom buildings to the student housing, their steps echoing faintly against the concrete. To their left, the athletic fields stretched wide and vibrant, trimmed grass, white goalposts glinting under the light, and players shouting out calls in the middle of practice drills.
As they passed the soccer field, Bryce slowed. "Looks like girls soccer team's still grinding," he muttered. "Late practice."
Adam turned, gaze drifting toward the motion of players weaving across the field with precision and grace. One of them stood out, powerful strides, a lithe figure in black and crimson uniform dominating the midfield with a fierce presence. Her long ponytail whipped behind her as she pivoted and launched a beautiful long pass across the field.
Amber Thorne.
Even at a distance, there was no mistaking her.
Adam paused, watching her for a moment. He hadn't seen her since the encounter at the Thorne estate, that shadowy moment full of strange tension and unspoken weight. He hadn't expected to see her like this… vibrant, sweaty, radiant under the sun.
She noticed him before he could look away.
Amber's head snapped in his direction, her entire body halting mid-step. Surprise flashed across her face, followed almost immediately by a wide, delighted grin. Without a second thought, she jogged off the field, ignoring the exasperated whistle from her coach, and headed straight toward him.
Bryce blinked. "Uh… is she—?"
Adam barely had time to register it.
Amber barreled into him in a full-bodied hug, her skin warm from exertion, the faint scent of sweat, grass, and a hint of citrus shampoo clinging to her. He stiffened for a moment, caught off guard, then relaxed into the embrace as her arms tightened briefly around him.
"You came," she said, pulling back just enough to look up at him, her cheeks flushed from more than just the training. "I wasn't sure if you would. But… I'm really glad you did."
Adam chuckled softly, slightly embarrassed. "Yeah. It's… different. Still figuring things out."
"Don't worry. You'll fit in fast," she said with certainty. "And you better come to my match on Saturday, I expect cheering. Front row."
"Match. Saturday. Got it," he nodded, half-smiling.
Bryce stood off to the side with his hands in his pockets, eyes sharp behind the casual grin. "Looks like someone's already popular."
Amber flashed him a smirk but kept her focus on Adam. Meanwhile, across the field, several boys had turned their attention toward them. Their expressions soured with envy, their whispers carried just faintly on the breeze.
Adam noticed the stares, not all of them friendly, but said nothing. Bryce, however, chuckled under his breath.
"I think you just made enemies you didn't even know you had," he said.
Amber rolled her eyes. "Let them pout. They'll get over it. Adam, I'll see you around?"
"Yeah," he nodded. "See you."
And just like that, she jogged back to the field, ponytail swinging, sliding effortlessly back into the game as if the brief moment hadn't just stirred something in both of them.
Finally, they arrived at the dorms.
Two sleek towers, one for boys, the other for girls stood tall and proud, each lined with balconies and windows like a hotel for the elite. The bottom floor of each dorm featured a lounge, complete with plush couches, a wide-screen TV, a reading nook, and even a snack bar. Upstairs, the rooms were just as futuristic. Twin beds embedded into the wall could fold and expand at will. Each student had a desk, a personal fridge, and a curved window nook with a reading seat. The doors opened via ID scan. No keyholes.
Bryce stopped at one door and smirked. "Guess what? Roomies."
Adam blinked. "Seriously?"
"Seriously. Lucky you didn't get Harris. That guy snores like a dying walrus."
Adam chuckled. He hadn't expected to feel this... comfortable.
By the time Adam was called into the principal's office, the sun had dipped low enough to cast warm amber hues through the tall glass panels lining the administrative hall. The school had quieted. Most students were either in the dorms or out on the fields. The silence only amplified the sound of his shoes against the polished marble floor as he stepped up to the broad, dark oak doors.
He knocked once. A calm, clear voice responded. "Enter."
The office inside was less of a typical principal's den and more of a sanctum, subtle elegance dressed in old-world charm. Bookshelves lined one wall, filled with hardcovers and old tomes, while the opposite wall showcased detailed sketches of the school's architectural evolution. At the far end, a broad desk sat beneath a circular stained-glass window that bled twilight across the room like spilled paint.
Principal Elowen Bellhart stood by the desk, back turned as she adjusted a sculpture on a shelf. Her dark gray suit was sharp, pristine, her hair pulled into a smooth twist at the back of her head. She turned with a serene smile.
"Adam. I trust the tour was enlightening."
"It was... a lot," Adam said honestly, stepping forward.
"I imagine so," she nodded, gesturing for him to take a seat. "Please. Sit."
He did, sinking into the leather chair, the weight of the day settling with him.
Madam Bellhart folded her hands atop the desk, eyes studying him not unkindly, a soft but unrelenting gaze that made it feel like she was already five steps ahead of whatever he might say.
"You've had a long day," she said. "New environment. New faces. Some… familiar I hear."
Adam raised an eyebrow but didn't challenge the last part. "Yeah. It's definitely not what I expected."
"No," she said with a smile. "It's not. But that's rarely a bad thing."
There was a pause.
"I won't pretend to know all your reasons for being here," she continued. "But what I do know is that you've already made an impression. Students like Amber, Bryce… even Anissa. You've found yourself at the center of a place where influence moves quietly. That matters."
Adam stayed quiet, processing her words. how did she know? he wondered.
"I'd like to officially offer you a place here, Adam," she said, sliding a sleek black folder across the table. "You may take the night to think about it, but I believe you've already made your choice."
He glanced at the folder. Inside, he saw a welcome letter, housing credentials, meal access, and even a student ID, already printed.
"You were that sure?" he asked.
"I don't operate on certainty," she replied. "But I recognize conviction when I see it. You came here seeking something, didn't you?"
Adam didn't answer. Not really. Luna's name was on the edge of his tongue, but he swallowed it, keeping that part to himself.
Elowen's expression softened slightly. "You'll find that this academy has secrets. History. Purpose. If you choose to stay… you'll eventually have to confront what you're really looking for."
He exhaled slowly.
"Alright," he said, reaching for a pen. "I'll stay."
A flicker of satisfaction passed through her eyes. "Good."
She stood and handed him a satchel filled with school amenities, a class tablet, school journal, a complementary campus bracelet, everything he'd need to feel like he belonged.
As he stood to leave, she added quietly, "Don't forget to take your uniform at the reception office. I trust it fits to your exact specifications... And all your books and material have been delivered into your locker."
***
The ride home with Austin was mostly quiet, filled with soft music humming from the radio and the low rumble of tires on asphalt. Adam sat with the bag in his lap, fingers occasionally brushing the edge of the student ID like it still didn't feel real.
They pulled into the gravel drive, the sky now painted in violet and navy. As they entered the cozy warmth of the house, Austin tossed his coat over a chair and moved straight to the kitchen, putting on a kettle.
Adam stood near the dining table, unpacking the contents of the satchel. The bracelet caught the overhead light, a thin silver band engraved with the school's sigil, and the uniform he hadn't tried out yet.
Austin leaned on the counter. "So? How was your day in mystery school land?"
Adam cracked a small smile. "Better than I thought. Weird, but… good, weird."
Austin handed him a cup of tea and sat across from him.
"You signed, didn't you?"
Adam nodded, not looking up. "Yeah."
"I figured."
Silence stretched between them for a moment, not uncomfortable but layered.
"What made you decide?" Austin finally asked.
Adam hesitated. "I don't know. The people, I guess. It felt like… like I wasn't as out of place as I thought I'd be."
"That's rare," Austin said. "That feeling. Hang on to it."
Adam traced the rim of the mug. "You said you knew the school. That it wasn't just some regular academy."
Austin leaned back slightly. "I did. And it isn't."
"But you're still not telling me everything," Adam said quietly. "Are you?"
Austin looked at him, not defensive, not evasive, just tired. "Some things you need to discover on your own. If I hand them to you, they won't mean as much. And some of it… well, you wouldn't believe me yet."
Adam nodded, digesting that. "Did mom go there?"
A pause.
"Yes," Austin said finally. "Not for long. But yes."
That sent a current through Adam's chest, cold and curious.
"Is that why you pushed me toward it?"
"No. I didn't push you, Adam. I gave you the option." His voice was calm, steady. "But if you're asking whether I think this place will help you find answers… then yeah. I do."
Adam leaned back in his chair, looking at the ceiling.
"I just want to understand. And not feel like I'm two steps behind everyone else."
Austin stood and moved toward the window, gazing out at the darkening horizon.
"Then follow what feels right," he said. "You've got more clarity than most kids your age. Trust that. Trust yourself."
Adam looked at him, the man who had raised him, and for a moment saw not just a father, but someone who knew a hell of a lot more than he let on.
"I will," Adam said finally.
They didn't talk much more after that. The rest of the evening passed in quiet, tea cooling on the table, the low hum of night settling over the house.
Adam went to bed with the student ID resting on his desk, its sleek surface catching the moonlight like a silent promise.
***
Meanwhile, Joe Hawkings sped down the quiet lamplit streets of under grove square.
Moonstone at night was a quiet town, but not silent. Crickets filled the spaces between lamplight and shadow, and far-off, a freight train cried like a ghost moving through the hills. Joe Hawkings gripped the steering wheel tighter, eyes darting between the clock and the road. 9:56 p.m. He cursed under his breath and leaned harder on the gas.
He wasn't supposed to be this late. He hadn't meant to miss dinner again. But the hours had slipped, clawed away by the case, as they always did. The bungalow murder was colder than Moonstone's river, and each lead he turned over bled into nothing. He had nothing. No prints. No witness. No human explanation.
And that was the problem. Joe didn't believe it was a human act. Not really.
His tires crunched gravel as he pulled into his driveway. The house sat dark and still. The porch light flickered once before holding steady. He stepped out, sighed, and approached the front door.
Joe unlocked the door and stepped inside with the heavy creak of worn hinges. The house was dim, quiet. Too quiet. The only light came from the kitchen, where the faint hum of the refrigerator filled the air.
He paused at the hallway, glancing at the small bedroom to the right. The door was cracked open, and a soft nightlight glowed against pale pink wallpaper. His daughter lay curled up under a blanket, thumb tucked in her hand, stuffed bear pressed to her cheek. Joe lingered in the doorway, watching her breathe.
She didn't even stir.
That hurt more than it should have.
By the time he reached the bedroom, he was already bracing for the cold. Not from the sheets, but from the air. His wife was sitting up in bed, arms crossed, a novel open but clearly unread in her lap.
"You said you'd be back by eight," she said, not looking at him.
Joe exhaled slowly and rubbed the back of his neck. "I know. I lost track of time."
"No, Joe. You didn't lose track of time. You chose not to look at the clock. Again."
He shut the bedroom door behind him and sat on the edge of the bed. "I'm sorry. I really am. I was
looking over the bungalow homicide file. I think—"
She slammed the book shut. "I don't care about the file."
That hit like a slap.
"You don't?" he asked, turning to her.
"No," she said, her voice shaking. "I care about our daughter asking where Daddy is. I care about dinner getting cold three nights in a row. I care about sleeping next to a man who talks more to his files than to me."
He stared down at his hands.
"She drew you a picture," she added bitterly. "Sat there with her crayons and made something just for you. And then waited. And waited. Do you even know how many dinners she's eaten without you this month?"
Joe looked up, his throat dry. "I'm trying to do something that matters. You know what I've seen. What's out there. I can't just walk away from that."
"You're not saving anyone if you destroy your own family first," she whispered.
The room was heavy with silence. Joe wanted to say something, anything. But everything he thought of felt like a defense. And defenses only made it worse.
"I'll sleep on the couch," he offered, voice low.
She looked away. "Do whatever you want. You always do."
He stood up, reluctant, as if leaving the room was proof, she was right. The door clicked softly shut behind him.
Joe lay there in the darkness, staring up at the ceiling. Regret churned in his gut like acid. What was he doing? Losing his family over a case that refused to speak.
But his mind wouldn't let go.
After an hour of empty silence, he got up. Quiet as a thief, he padded to the study.
He unlocked it.
The door creaked open, revealing the chaos within, books stacked high, old crime scene photos pinned to corkboards, string maps, notes, lore clippings about werewolves, bloodlines, unnatural deaths. It was more conspiracy lair than study.
Joe sat at the desk and flicked on the lamp.
That's when he saw it.
A letter.
It hadn't been there before. He was sure of it.
Plain white envelope. No markings. His name written in looping cursive. A hand he didn't recognize.
His breath caught.
Slowly, cautiously, he opened it.
A single sheet.
Handwritten.
His eyes moved over the lines.
Then again.
And again.
He sat up straight, face draining of color.
A whisper escaped him. Just two words. Disbelief. Horror.
"No way."
Upstairs, his wife walked back to the living room. She had wiped her face, guilt pulling her from the
bed. Maybe they could talk. Maybe things could heal.
But she found the couch empty.
The study door was shut.
Light leaked out under the crack.
Locked.
He had locked it again.
She stared at it a long moment, chest tight.
She turned away and walked slowly back up the stairs, tears threatening to fall again.
Inside the study, Joe Hawkings still stared at the letter, his hands trembling, breath shallow. Whatever it said, whatever it meant, it was just the beginning.
Moonstone had a new problem.