The Girl Beneath The Moon

Veda’s POV The breathing didn’t stop when I opened my eyes. It stayed low and steady beside the bed, too heavy for anything that belonged in my room. I lay still and counted to ten the way I always did after the dream, waiting for the sound to fade into ordinary quiet. It didn’t. The air felt charged, the way it does right before a storm. I sat up fast. Nothing. My window stood open with a crack. The curtain stirred once, then hung still. Outside, the trees at the edge of Bellmere were black shapes against a sky that hadn’t decided between night and morning. No red moon. No forest floor under my bare feet. No massive black wolf stepping from the trees and saying my name like it had known me longer than I had. Just the leftover echo of its breath in my ears. I pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes until colors bloomed. Seventeen years of the same dream and it still felt less like sleep and more like being pulled somewhere I wasn’t supposed to go. Every time, the moon was the wrong color. Every time, the wolf came closer. Tonight it had stood near enough that I could have reached out and touched the fur between its eyes. And it had spoken. *Veda.* Like it was reminding me of something I’d forgotten. I swung my legs out of bed. The floorboards were cold. My phone read 5:47 a.m. Too early, but there was no point trying to sleep again. The dream never came twice in one night. It only left the feeling behind like something had measured me and found me wanting. Downstairs the kitchen light was already on. Celia stood at the counter with her back to me, pouring coffee she wouldn’t drink. She always did that when she hadn’t slept either. Her dark hair was twisted into the same messy knot she’d worn for years, and the oversized cardigan made her look smaller than she was. She didn’t turn when I came in. “You’re up early,” she said. “Nightmare.” She set the pot down carefully. “The forest one?” I opened the fridge mostly for something to do with my hands. “Sit. I’ll make eggs.” “I’m not hungry.” “Sit anyway.” I sat. The table was the same scarred wood it had been since I was six, the year my father stopped existing in any conversation that mattered. Celia moved around the kitchen the way she always did when she was trying not to look at me too hard, efficient, controlled, every motion exact. She cracked eggs into a bowl without measuring. The sound was too loud in the quiet house. “There’s something on your window,” she said suddenly. I looked up. “What?” “A mark. Scratched into the glass.” Her voice stayed even, but her fingers tightened around the whisk. “I cleaned it off already.” “You went into my room?” I said. “The light was on. I thought you were awake.” She turned then, and her eyes did that thing they always did when she was deciding how much truth I was allowed. “It looked like a symbol. Circles inside circles. Don’t touch it if it comes back.” “Why would it come back?” “Veda.” Looking at me with a serious look. “I’m serious. Why are you acting like this is normal?” I said. She set a plate in front of me even though I hadn’t asked for one. Two eggs, toast, the exact amount of salt she knew I liked. “You’re seventeen. Strange things happen. It doesn’t mean anything.” “You wiped it off like it meant something.” Celia sat across from me. Her coffee sat untouched between us. “I don’t want you going into the woods. Not after dark. Not alone. Not for any reason.” “You’ve said that every year since I can remember.” “And every year I mean it more.” I pushed the plate away an inch. “Is this about Dad?” The air changed. It always did when I said the word. Celia’s face didn’t move, but something behind her eyes locked down hard. “We’ve talked about this.” “No. You’ve avoided this. There’s a difference.” “Your father left. That’s all there is.” “People who leave usually leave a note. Or a reason. Or at least a forwarding address.” I kept my voice steady because if I didn’t it would crack and she’d use that against me. “You never talk about him. Not even when I ask. Not even when it’s just us.” “Because there’s nothing useful to say.” “That’s not the same as nothing to say.” Celia stood. The chair scraped louder than it needed to. “Eat your breakfast. You’re going to be late.” “I’m not late. School doesn’t start for two hours.” “Then go back to sleep.” “I can’t. The breathing is still there.” She froze with her hand on the counter. “What breathing?” I shouldn’t have said it. The dream always stayed private for a reason. But the symbol on the window and the way she’d looked when she mentioned it pulled the words out anyway. “In the dream there’s a wolf. Black. Bigger than anything that should exist. It says my name. And when I wake up I can still hear it breathing. Like it’s in the room.” Celia’s face went carefully blank. “It’s a dream, Veda. Dreams do strange things to the body.” “You looked scared when I said it.” “I’m not scared. I’m tired.” She turned away again. “Promise me you won’t go into the forest. Not even if you hear something. Not even if you think someone needs help.” “That’s a weirdly specific promise.” “Promise me.” I stared at the back of her head. “Fine. I promise.” She nodded once, like the words were a contract she’d been waiting to hear. Then she left the kitchen without touching her coffee. I sat there with the eggs going cold and the feeling that something important had just been locked away again, the same way it always was. Bellmere High looked the same as it had every morning for three years: brick, glass, and the low buzz of kids who still believed the world was mostly fair. Piper found me at my locker before first period, already talking. “You look like you fought a raccoon in your sleep,” she said, leaning against the metal. “Nightmare again?” “Yeah.” “The red moon one?” I shut the locker harder than necessary. “Does everyone in this town know my subconscious better than I do?” “Only the people who care.” She grinned, but it faded fast. “You okay? For real.” “My mom wiped a symbol off my window this morning and then banned me from the forest like I was five.” Piper’s eyebrows went up. “That’s new.” “Everything feels new and also exactly the same. I don’t know.” Micah appeared on my other side, backpack half-zipped, hair still damp from a rushed shower. He took one look at my face and didn’t bother with the usual good morning. “Bad night?” “Something like that.” He nodded once. Micah never pushed. It was one of the things I liked best and hated most about him. He just adjusted the strap of his bag and fell into step with us the way he’d been doing since we were kids. We were halfway to first period when the air in the hallway changed. It wasn’t loud. It was the opposite of loud. Conversations dipped for half a second the way they do when someone new walks in and everyone pretends not to notice. I looked up without meaning to. Reid Mercer, he is the new transfer student who stood just inside the main doors. I didn’t know his name yet. I only knew he was tall in a way that didn’t look accidental, dark hair that didn’t try too hard, and the kind of stillness that made the rest of the hallway feel restless by comparison. He wasn’t looking at the schedule board or the office or the groups of juniors sizing him up. He was looking at me. Not glancing. Looking. Like he’d already decided something. Piper followed my gaze. “Okay, who is that and why is he staring at you like you owe him money?” “I have no idea.” Micah’s voice was quieter. “Transfer?” “Has to be.” Piper tilted her head. “He’s hot in a ‘might bury a body for you’ kind of way. Thoughts?” “My only thought is that I’ve never seen him before today and he’s looking at me like he has.” Reid’s eyes stayed on mine for another second, then shifted away like he’d gotten whatever information he needed. He walked past us without slowing down. The space he left behind felt colder. Piper whistled under her breath. “Well. That’s not ominous at all.” --- He was in my second-period history class. I knew before the teacher finished taking attendance. Reid sat two rows over and one seat back, close enough that I could feel the weight of his attention without turning around. Mr. Callahan introduced him with the usual transfer-student speech Reid Mercer, from somewhere upstate, pleased to have him, please make him feel welcome. Reid nodded once. He didn’t smile. He didn’t look at the teacher. He looked at me again, just long enough that I felt it like a hand on the back of my neck. I spent the next forty minutes pretending to take notes and failing. Every time I shifted, I could sense him still watching. Not constantly. Just enough to make it clear he wasn’t done. When the bell rang I was out of my seat before most people had closed their notebooks. I didn’t wait for Piper. I didn’t wait for Micah. I walked straight into the hallway and stopped where the lockers were, formed a little alcove that blocked the main traffic. I didn’t have to wait long. Reid appeared at the edge of the alcove like he’d known exactly where I’d be. Up close he was even more still. His eyes were dark, almost black in the fluorescent light, and there was nothing casual about the way he looked at me. “You’re staring,” I said. “I know.” “That’s usually considered rude.” “Usually.” I crossed my arms. “Do I know you?” “No.” “Then why do you keep looking at me like we’ve already had a conversation?” Reid’s mouth tilted, not quite a smile. “Maybe I’m just bad at first impressions.” “That’s not an answer.” He studied me for a second longer than was polite. “You’re Veda Rowan.” The sound of my full name in his mouth made the back of my neck prickle. “I didn’t introduce myself.” “Someone else did.” “Who?” “Does it matter?” “Yes. Because I’ve never seen you before today and you just walked into my school and started acting like you already know the script.” Reid leaned one shoulder against the locker behind him. The movement was lazy, but nothing about his eyes was lazy. “I’m new. People talk.” “Not that fast.” “You’d be surprised what people notice.” I stepped closer without meaning to. “Stop dodging. Why were you watching me in class?” “Because you’re hard not to notice.” “That’s a line.” “It’s also true.” Frustration spiked hot under my ribs. “I don’t like games. If you’re going to stand there and talk in circles, find someone else to do it with.” Reid’s expression didn’t change, but something behind it shifted. He pushed off the locker and closed the small distance between us until I had to tip my head back to keep eye contact. When he spoke again, his voice was lower, quieter, meant only for me. “You’re the girl they’ve been searching for.” The hallway noise kept going around us, lockers slamming, someone laughing too loud, the distant squeak of sneakers on tile but none of it reached me. The words landed and stayed, heavy and impossible. I stared at him. “What did you just say?” Reid didn’t repeat it. He just held my gaze like he was waiting to see which version of me would answer. I opened my mouth. The bell for third period rang, sharp and final. Reid stepped back first. “See you around, Veda.” Then he turned and walked away, leaving me standing in the alcove with my pulse in my throat and the clear, cold certainty that the dream hadn’t ended when I opened my eyes after all.