Moon's Betrayal

Elena's POV The demolition notice felt like ice in my hands, even though the LA sun was beating down mercilessly. Twenty-four hours. That's all they were giving us. "Mija, we'll figure something out." Papa's voice was weak, so different from the strong man who used to lift me onto the coffee shop counter when I was little. The stress lines around his eyes had deepened over the past month, and his hands shook as he poured coffee for our last few customers. Rivera's Haven – that's what the supernatural community called our little shop. To humans, we were just another struggling business in East LA. But to werewolves, vampires, and other creatures hiding in plain sight, we were home. The only place they could listen to music without pretending to be something they weren't. "The city's been trying to kick us out for two years," I whispered, watching him struggle with the espresso machine. "Ever since they decided this block needed 'development.'" Papa collapsed that evening. I found him on the floor behind the counter, clutching his chest, the demolition notice crumpled beside him. The paramedics said it was a massive heart attack. Stress-induced, they called it. I called it murder. "Keep singing, Elena," he gasped as they loaded him into the ambulance. "Promise me you'll never stop singing." "I promise, Papa. I promise." He died before we reached the hospital. By the next afternoon, the wrecking ball had already started its work. I stood across the street, watching twenty-three years of memories turn to dust. Every brick that fell felt like another piece of my heart breaking. The city moved fast when they wanted poor people gone. Now, three days later, I had exactly twelve dollars and thirty-seven cents to my name. The funeral had eaten through Papa's life savings, and the medical bills were already piling up. I'd spent my last five dollars on a burger that tasted like cardboard, but my stomach had been growling for hours. The streets of downtown LA were different at night. Dangerous for a lone omega, but I didn't care anymore. What was the worst that could happen? I'd already lost everything. I found a quiet alley between two office buildings, far enough from the main street that I wouldn't be bothered, but close enough that someone might drop a few coins if my voice was good enough. Setting down my guitar case, I pulled out the old acoustic Papa had bought me for my sixteenth birthday. The strings were worn, and there was a c***k along the side, but it still held a tune. I closed my eyes and let the grief flow through me, turning it into melody. "In the silence of the night, I hear your voice calling..." The old werewolf lullaby Papa used to sing when I couldn't sleep. I'd never known where he learned it, but it always made me feel safe. Protected. My voice echoed off the brick walls, raw with pain and longing. I sang for Papa, for our lost coffee shop, for all the supernatural beings who no longer had a safe place to call home. I sang until my throat was hoarse and tears streamed down my face. When I opened my eyes, a black Lamborghini was parked at the mouth of the alley. And someone was watching me from the shadows.