Luna
The hospital room was silent. Too silent.
I sat stiffly in the chair beside the bed, staring at my mother's still form. The machines that once beeped with stubborn life had gone quiet, leaving only the hushed breaths of the nurses as they moved around me. Someone touched my shoulder—a gentle pressure—but I barely registered it.
"She's gone."
The words had been spoken minutes ago, but they refused to settle in my mind. Gone. As if she had simply walked out of the room and would return at any moment, brushing a stray curl from my face, murmuring words of comfort. But that moment never came. It never would.
A sharp inhale cut through the silence. My father. He stood at the other side of the bed, his head bowed, hands clenched into tight fists. His face was unreadable, a mask of restraint, but I could see the storm brewing in his eyes.
"Dad," I whispered, my voice foreign even to my own ears.
He didn't answer. Didn't move. Just stared at the love of his life, frozen in a grief so heavy it seemed to crush the air from the room.
Tears burned behind my eyes, but they refused to fall. Everything felt distant, surreal. Like I was trapped in a dream I couldn't wake from. A nightmare.
A nurse finally spoke. "Take all the time you need."
I wanted to scream. What did time even mean now?
---
The next few days blurred together, an endless cycle of hushed condolences and the suffocating weight of loss. Our home felt empty, haunted by the absence of my mother's presence. Every room still carried her scent, her warmth, yet she was nowhere to be found.
My father barely spoke. Neither did I. We moved through the motions like ghosts, bound together by sorrow but unable to reach each other through it.
It wasn't until Camille showed up at my doorstep that I finally remembered how to breathe.
---
The moment Camille stepped inside, she pulled me into a hug. "I came as soon as I heard."
I let myself sink into the embrace, the familiar scent of her perfume anchoring me to the present. I hadn't realized how much I needed this—someone who wasn't afraid to hold me together when I felt like shattering.
"I don't know what to do," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.
Camille pulled back, searching my face. "You don't have to do anything right now. Just… exist. One breath at a time."
I nodded, even though it didn't feel like enough. Nothing would ever be enough.
She stayed the entire day, sitting with me in silence, distracting me with old stories from school, even making me eat something despite my protests. It wasn't a cure for the pain, but it helped—if only for a moment.
"I can't believe she's gone," I whispered later that night, as we sat together on the porch steps. "I keep expecting her to call my name, to tell me to set the table or to remind me to take an umbrella."
Camille squeezed my hand. "She loved you so much, Luna. And that love doesn't just disappear."
I exhaled shakily, watching the moonlight stretch over the front yard. It was a pretty lie, and I wished I could believe it.
---
That night, I stood outside, staring at the moon. Its silver glow cast long shadows across the yard, making everything feel even more unreal. My mother was dead. Gone. Yet the world kept moving as if nothing had changed.
A rustle in the trees made me tense.
I turned sharply, but there was nothing. Just the whisper of wind through the leaves. And yet, I couldn't shake the feeling that something—someone—was watching.
Maybe it was paranoia. Maybe it was something else.
Either way, I wouldn't let my guard down again.
Ethan
Across town, I sat at the grand dining table in my family's estate, the tension in the room thick with unspoken words. My father, Tobias Blackwell, sat at the head, his sharp gaze resting on me with measured intensity. Beside him stood my uncle, Gideon, his presence an ever-present shadow in the pack's affairs.
"You heard about the Samuels girl," my father said, breaking the silence.
I leaned back in my chair. "Yeah."
"She survived."
There was an edge to the words, but this time, it wasn't accusation—only intrigue. I met my father's stare and sighed. "And?"
"It wasn't our fight, but Raziel made it one." His voice darkened. "The Revenants were behind the attack."
My eyes narrowed. "So they want her dead."
"Or worse," Gideon cut in smoothly, swirling a glass of whiskey in his hand. "You know the Revenants. They don't just kill—they take, they control. If they went after her, there's a reason."
My father exhaled through his nose, his fingers drumming against the table. "We are not their pawns, Ethan. Our pack has no interest in harming the girl, but Raziel's obsession is dangerous. Keep your distance."
Gideon smirked, a flicker of amusement in his sharp features. "That's assuming he listens, Tobias. We both know the boy has a tendency to get involved in things he shouldn't."
I clenched my jaw. I was used to Gideon's jabs, used to the way he always sought to undermine me. It was no secret—he wanted the Alpha position for himself, and my father wasn't getting any younger.
"I don't need a lecture on where my loyalties should lie."
My father nodded slowly, but Gideon only chuckled, his amusement never quite reaching his eyes.
"You think you're untouchable," Gideon mused, sipping his drink. "That's going to be your downfall one day."
I ignored him, pushing away from the table.
As I stepped outside, the cool night air did little to ease the tension coiling in my chest. My father had made it clear—the pack wasn't after Luna. But the Revenants were. And that made everything far more dangerous than I'd thought.
The moon hung high in the sky, watching, waiting. Something was coming. I could feel it in my bones.