(Five Years Later)
"Mommy, Leo's staring at me again."
"I'm not staring. I'm observing."
"Same thing!"
Lyla Blackwood pressed a hand to her forehead and counted to ten. It was 7:03 AM. She'd had approximately four hours of sleep. And her four-year-old twins were already at war.
Luna sat at the kitchen table, her dark curls a wild tangle around her face, her small hands planted on her hips. At four, she was all fierce energy and stubborn will, her mother's features sharpened by a personality that refused to bend. She'd been born first, by seven minutes, and she'd been asserting dominance ever since.
Leo, quieter and more contemplative, pushed his oatmeal around his bowl. He had lighter hair, almost golden in certain lights, and eyes that sometimes, when he was thinking hard, seemed to glow silver. He watched his sister with the patience of someone who had learned that arguing with Luna was like arguing with a hurricane.
"Luna, let your brother observe. Leo, stop observing so loudly. Both of you, eat your breakfast."
"I'm not observing loudly," Leo said. "Luna just doesn't like being observed."
"Because you're always doing it! You watch everything. It's creepy."
"It's not creepy. It's informative."
Lyla sighed and poured herself coffee. The apartment was small—a cramped two-bedroom in Brooklyn that cost more than it should and offered less than it promised. The walls were thin, the heating unreliable, and the neighbors argued at 3 AM. But it was theirs. She had painted the children's room herself, a mural of stars and moons that took her three weekends and left her with permanent back pain. Worth it.
"Mommy, Leo's doing the thing again."
Lyla looked up. Leo's bowl was vibrating.
Not shaking. Not moving because he was jiggling the table. Vibrating. Like something was humming beneath the ceramic, a frequency too low for human ears but loud enough to rattle the spoon against the side.
"Leo." Lyla kept her voice calm, measured. "Eyes on me, baby."
He looked up. His eyes were definitely silver now. Glowing faintly, like moonlight on water.
"Sorry, Mommy. I was thinking about the moon."
"The moon?"
"It's almost full. It feels... loud. Like it's calling something."
Lyla's heart clenched. She crossed the kitchen, knelt beside him, took his small face in her hands. "Breathe with me, okay? In... and out... in... and out..."
The glow faded. The bowl stopped vibrating. Leo blinked, suddenly just a little boy again, rubbing his eyes like he'd just woken from a dream.
"Better?"
"Better." He yawned, the tension draining from his small shoulders. "Can I have more oatmeal?"
Lyla kissed his forehead and tried not to cry.
This was her life now. Managing the impossible. Hiding the extraordinary. Protecting her children from a world that would either fear them or exploit them. She had become an expert at deflection, at changing the subject, at pretending that the strange things that happened around her children were normal four-year-old behavior.
The first time it happened, they'd been one year old. A full moon, and she'd woken to find two wolf pups in the crib. Tiny. Fuzzy. Whimpering because they didn't understand what was happening. Their fur was soft, Luna's golden and Leo's silver, and their eyes had glowed in the dark like embers.
Lyla had screamed. Then she'd gathered them up, held them close, and whispered, "It's okay. Mommy's here. Mommy's always here."
By morning, they were babies again.
She'd spent the next three years researching, desperately seeking answers in late-night Google searches that led nowhere. She found forums for "gifted children," for "unexplained phenomena," for people who claimed to see things others couldn't. But nothing matched. Nothing explained silver eyes and shifting forms and bowls that vibrated when her son thought too hard about the moon.
She had tried doctors—specialists who ran tests that came back normal, who suggested she might be imagining things, who looked at her with sympathy that felt like accusation.
She had tried support groups, anonymous online forums where parents shared stories of children who could move objects with their minds or speak languages they'd never learned. But those children didn't turn into wolves. Those children didn't have eyes that glowed when the moon was full.
She had tried to forget. To pretend that it wasn't happening. To convince herself that if she ignored it, it would go away.
It didn't.
"Mommy?" Luna tugged her sleeve. "You're sad again."
Lyla blinked, forcing a smile. "I'm not sad, baby. Just thinking."
"About the man with gold eyes?"
The words hit her like a punch to the chest. She had never told them about Kael. Never shown them photos. Never spoken his name aloud when they were awake. She had locked that night away in a box inside her heart, along with the note that was now worn soft from being folded and unfolded a thousand times.
"What man?"
"In your dreams. You say his name. Kael." Luna pronounced it carefully, drawing out the syllables. "Kay-ell. Is he our daddy?"
Lyla's throat closed. How did they know? How could they possibly know?
"How do you know that name?"
Luna shrugged. "Leo hears it in your head. I see it in your dreams. You think about him a lot. Is he our daddy?"
The truth sat between them, heavy and dangerous. Lyla had rehearsed this conversation a thousand times. She'd planned to wait until they were older, until she could explain in a way that made sense. But her children saw her dreams. Heard her thoughts. They already knew more than she had ever told them.
"Yes," she whispered. "He's your daddy."
"Where is he?" Leo asked, his silver eyes wide and curious.
"I don't know. I met him once, a long time ago. And then he had to leave. I never saw him again."
Luna's face crumpled, her lower lip trembling. "He left us?"
"I don't think he knew about you. I couldn't find him to tell him."
"So he's lost?"
"Something like that."
Luna considered this, her small brow furrowed in concentration. Then she nodded firmly, her expression shifting from hurt to determination. "We should find him. Me and Leo are good at finding things."
"Luna—"
"Leo found my pink bunny when it went behind the couch. I found Mrs. Patterson's glasses when she lost them at the park. We're excellent finders."
Despite everything, Lyla laughed. "You are excellent finders."
"So we'll find him. And then—" Luna paused, thinking. "Then I'll decide if I'm mad at him or not."
"That's fair."
Leo, who'd been quiet, looked up from his oatmeal. "Mommy. The man with gold eyes. He's coming here."
Lyla's blood chilled. "What?"
"Not here here. But close. He's looking for something. He's been looking for a long time." Leo touched his temple, his silver eyes distant, like he was seeing something far away. "I can feel him. Like the moon, but different. He's loud. His wolf is very loud."
Before Lyla could respond, her phone rang. The office. She grabbed it, her hands shaking.
"Lyla Blackwood."
"Ms. Blackwood, this is Patricia from Vance Industries. We received your portfolio. Mr. Vance would like to schedule an interview for the tower renovation project. He was very impressed with your work."
Lyla's heart leaped. Vance Industries was one of the biggest developers in the city, the kind of firm that could make a young architect's career overnight. This project—the Vance Tower renovation—was the kind of opportunity that came once in a lifetime.
"I'd love that. When?"
"Tomorrow. 10 AM. The Vance Tower, 45th floor. Please bring your portfolio and be prepared to present to the board."
"I'll be there."
She hung up, her mind racing with excitement and fear. The Vance Tower. It was the most iconic building in the city, a glass-and-steel monolith that had defined the skyline for decades. To renovate it would be a career-defining achievement.
Then she looked at Leo, who was watching her with those silver eyes that saw too much.
"The man with gold eyes," Leo said. "He's there. Where you're going tomorrow. He's loud there. Very loud."
Lyla's excitement curdled into something else. Fear? Hope? She didn't know.
"What's his name, Leo? The man with gold eyes."
Leo closed his eyes, concentrating. When he opened them, they were glowing faintly, silver light pooling in his irises.
"Kael. His name is Kael Vance."