THE MOON HIDES MY HEART

Chapter 15: The Brother's Death

Nikolai didn't scream. He didn't cry. He didn't break down, collapse, or rage at the walls. He simply stood, frozen, his back to me, his shoulders barely moving as he breathed.

"Kael," he said, his voice flat and empty. "Where is the body?"

"The morgue. The Headmaster is waiting."

"Tell her I'll be there in five minutes."

"Nikolai—"

"Five minutes."

Kael's footsteps faded down the hallway. Nikolai turned to face me. His eyes were dry, his face pale. But beneath the surface, I felt his grief through the bond – enormous, oceanic, a wave so vast it could swallow him whole.

"Nikolai," I said. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't." He held up a hand. "Don't. Not yet. If you say you're sorry, I'll—" His voice cracked. "I'll fall apart. And I can't fall apart right now."

"Then let me hold you."

"No."

"Nikolai."

"I said no." He grabbed his coat from the chair and pulled it on, his hands shaking. "I need to see him. I need to see who did this."

"Do you want me to come with you?"

He looked at me. His ice-blue eyes were wet now, not crying, just glistening. "No," he said. "Stay here. Stay safe."

"Safe from what?"

He didn't answer. He just walked out the door, leaving me alone in his room.

I didn't stay. I couldn't. The bond was screaming – not just Nikolai's grief, but Lukas's confusion, Kael's suspicion, and something darker, something that felt like mine. I dressed quickly, pulling on yesterday's clothes, and walked out of Nikolai's room into a hallway that felt wrong. Students gathered in small groups, whispering, their eyes following me.

"The human."

"Boris Volkov is dead."

"Human teeth."

"She's the only human."

I kept my head high and my face neutral, but inside, a fire churned. They think I did it. They think I killed him.

The morgue was in the basement. I had never been there, never wanted to go, but my feet carried me down the stone stairs, through the heavy iron door, into a room that smelled of death, cold, and old blood. The Headmaster was there, Kael, Lukas, and Nikolai. He stood over a table covered by a white sheet, his hand resting on the fabric, not yet pulled back.

"Miss Demir," the Headmaster's black eyes found me. "You shouldn't be here."

"Everyone thinks I did it."

"The evidence suggests—"

"The evidence is wrong." I walked towards the table. "I didn't kill anyone. I was with Nikolai all night."

The room fell silent. Lukas's head snapped towards me, his green eyes wide with hurt. "You were with him?"

"It's not what you think."

"What is it, then?"

I didn't answer. I couldn't. I didn't know how to explain the fever, the fire, the way Nikolai's body had felt against mine.

"Focus," Kael said quietly. "Boris is dead. Whatever happened between you three can wait." He pulled back the sheet.

Boris Volkov had been handsome. Even in death, I saw the resemblance to Nikolai – the same white-blond hair, sharp cheekbones, and ice-blue eyes, now closed forever. But his throat… his throat was destroyed. Not torn by claws, not ripped by fangs, but bitten. By human teeth. The marks were clear – rounded edges, spacing, the humanness of them. Someone had bitten out his throat. Someone with a human mouth. Someone like me.

"The only human at this academy is you," the Headmaster stated. "You understand why you're a suspect."

"I understand that someone is trying to frame me."

"Perhaps," she said, walking around the table. "Or perhaps the fire inside you is stronger than you realize. Perhaps you did this without remembering."

"I would remember biting a man's throat out."

"Would you? The fever last night was severe. You were delirious. You don't know what you did."

"I know what I didn't do."

"Prove it."

I couldn't prove it. I had no alibi except Nikolai, and he was too deep in grief to speak for me. No witnesses, no evidence, nothing but my word. And my word meant nothing to wolves who smelled human blood on a dead body.

"Miss Demir," the Headmaster's voice was final. "You are hereby detained pending investigation. You will be held in the lower cells until we determine the truth."

"You can't be serious."

"I am entirely serious."

"I didn't kill anyone!"

"Then the investigation will clear your name." She gestured to two guards I hadn't noticed before. "Take her."

The guards grabbed my arms. I didn't fight, didn't scream, didn't use the fire. If I fought, they would think me guilty. If I screamed, they would think me dangerous. If I did anything, they would use it against me. So I went quietly. But as they led me past Lukas, I grabbed his arm.

"Find out who did this," I whispered.

His green eyes were full of pain. "I will."

"Promise me."

"I promise."

The guards pulled me away.

The cell was cold. Stone walls, stone floor, a narrow cot with a thin mattress, a bucket in the corner I refused to acknowledge. No window, no light except a single torch in the hallway. I sat on the cot, pulling my knees to my chest. They think I killed him. They think I'm a monster. Maybe I am. The fire inside me flickered, not hot, not cold, just there, waiting. I closed my eyes, trying to feel through the bond. Nikolai was still in the morgue, his grief a deafening roar. Lukas was moving, walking fast, angry. Kael was still, thinking, planning. And Tomas—Tomas was awake. Fully awake. And he was scared. Not of me. For me.

Hours passed. I don't know how many. Time moved strangely in the cell; every minute felt like an hour, every hour like a day. I heard footsteps in the hallway. I looked up. Nikolai. His face was red, his eyes swollen. He had been crying.

"Nikolai—"

"Don't," he said, standing outside the bars, his hands gripping the iron. "Don't say you're sorry. Don't say it wasn't you. Don't say anything."

"I didn't kill your brother."

"I know."

"Then why are you looking at me like that?"

"Because everyone else thinks you did." His voice cracked. "My father is demanding your execution. The Volkov pack is calling for blood. If I don't—" He stopped, swallowed. "If I don't distance myself from you, they'll come for me too."

"Then distance yourself."

"I can't."

"Nikolai."

"I can't." His forehead pressed against the bars. "Because even if you did it—even if you killed him—I don't care. I don't care, Elif. And that makes me worse than a monster." He walked away before I could answer.

Lukas came next. He didn't say anything, just stood outside the bars, staring at me.

"Did you find anything?" I asked.

"The bite marks." His voice was tight. "They're human. But they're not your human."

"What does that mean?"

"Your teeth are smaller. The spacing is different." He pulled out a piece of paper. "I measured. I compared. The bite that killed Boris came from a larger mouth. A man's mouth."

"Then why am I still in here?"

"Because the Headmaster won't listen. Because the Volkovs want blood. Because everyone is afraid, and fear needs a target." He looked at me. "You're the target."

"Great."

"I'm going to get you out of here."

"How?"

"I don't know yet. But I will." He reached through the bars and touched my hand. "I promised you. Remember?"

"I remember."

He squeezed my fingers. Then he was gone.

I was alone again. The torch flickered, the shadows danced. And then I saw it: a piece of paper on the floor of my cell, folded neatly. It hadn't been there before. I picked it up, unfolded it. The handwriting was sharp, angry, familiar in a way I couldn't place.

"Your mother died the same way."

My blood went cold.

"Boris knew the truth. Now he's silent. Soon you will be too."

I flipped the paper over. One word on the back.

"Annen gibi öleceksin."

Turkish.

"You will die like your mother."

My hands were shaking. Someone in this academy knew Turkish. Someone who had been here when my mother was alive. Someone who had killed Boris to keep him quiet. Someone who was watching me right now. I looked at the bars, the hallway, the shadows beyond the torchlight.

"Who are you?" I whispered.

No answer. But I felt something. A presence. Watching. Waiting. The same presence I had felt in my room, in the library, in the cave. The same presence that had sent the wolf with red eyes. The same presence that had burned my mother's letter. The same presence that had killed Boris Volkov. And now… now it was coming for me.