Anthom's Luna

Back in the 1800s, humans stopped believing in monsters. By then, the creatures who ruled the night had already learned how to dress like kings and move through airports with diplomatic immunity. They never hid. They just stopped roaring. By 2025, the world had accepted two facts quietly. One: things existed that should not. Two: it was best to look away. Aurora Gava sat on her bed, legs crossed, one earphone in. Her screen had gone dark again. No messages. She pressed the power button and unlocked it for the third time in two minutes. Still nothing from Landré. Landré Faye didn’t usually take this long. Aurora's best friend was the daughter of Alain Faye — the man who owned the world’s most dominant private shipping empire. Cargo, arms, pharmaceuticals, even blacklisted goods... if it crossed borders without permission, Alain Faye knew about it. Landré, however, preferred chaos over business. She’d once ditched an entire family summit to ride a cargo plane just for the thrill. But she never ignored Aurora's calls. Not for an hour. Not when she’d promised to call this morning. Aurora threw the phone beside her and leaned back against the wall, one knee raised, her long silver-white hair pooled around her shoulders. The door creaked open. No knock. Serena. Aurora didn’t look up. Serena leaned against the frame, arms folded, face painted with perfect indifference. Her nails were blood red today. “You’re sulking again.” “Waiting,” Aurora said without moving. “For?” “None of your business.” “Isn’t everything in this house our business?” Serena’s tone was light, fake sweet. “You’re living in a room my father paid for, breathing air my father owns. At least pretend to be useful.” “I’m sorry. Would you like me to iron your lies or sweep your insecurities?” Serena smiled, but her eyes didn't. “You know, sometimes I forget you’re not adopted. You act so... misplaced.” Aurora’s eyes finally met hers. Calm, but firm. “You hate that I exist. I get it. But don’t bring biology into this—you’re not smart enough for science.” The silence thickened. Then Serena straightened and shrugged like she was brushing off dust. “There’s a dinner. Important one. Try not to embarrass the family.” Aurora glanced back at her screen. “Tell your father I’m not coming.” Serena’s smile widened. “Fine. Stay. Just don’t cry when the world forgets your name.” The door clicked shut behind her, and Aurora let her head fall back against the wall. Still no messages. She’d met Landré in a detention room five years ago, after a fight Aurora never explained and a smuggling stunt Landré swore wasn’t her idea. Since then, they were permanent fixtures in each other’s lives. Aurora didn’t call many people “friend.” Just one. And today, something felt off. By 11:47PM, the silence was beginning to grow teeth. Aurora stared at her phone again. It sat facedown on the bedside table now, mocking her patience. Still no call, no message. Not even a missed ring. She had sent Landré to dig into something months ago—an incident that had happened years back, buried in family lies and official records that didn’t line up. Landré had connections; people who owed her favors, people who feared her father. And she had promised that today, tonight, she’d have answers. "I'll call you before midnight," she'd said that morning, voice sharp with certainty. "I finally have a lead. If it's what I think it is, it's going to blow the lid off everything." But it was midnight now. And there was only silence. Aurora rose from the bed. She didn’t bother to check herself in the mirror as she walked to the closet. She was already dressed: black pants, soft-heeled boots, and a blouse that managed to look effortless but had taken twenty minutes to choose. All dark, all clean. Her usual armor. The house had gone quiet, which meant dinner had started. The important dinner. She hadn’t wanted to go. From the moment she'd overheard the maids talking three days ago, she'd known the agenda had little to do with family unity. It was matchmaking disguised as formality. Some visiting family. Some boy. Aurora didn’t care about the name. She remembered only the phrase: “...young, proper, comes from a good bloodline.” As if she were some breeder being sold at auction. She'd heard enough. At first, she'd planned to ignore the event entirely. It wasn't unusual—she skipped dinners often, especially ones that centered around Serena's endless drama. But skipping this particular dinner would come with consequences. She could already imagine the complaints from her mother, the tight-lipped disappointment from her stepfather, the smug pleasure in Serena's eyes. And then there was Anthom. Anthom Rubis Delcasva. The name carried weight in any room. Aurora had seen him once, from a distance. Broad-shouldered, clean-cut, impossibly expensive in his silence. He'd come to the house twice in the past three months. Both times, he had spoken fewer than twenty words. Yet when he left, even the air seemed tenser, like it had bowed to his presence. He was Serena's husband. Technically. Serena complained about him more than she talked about anything else. “He doesn’t even look at me,” she'd whined once. “He hasn’t touched me in months. He doesn’t sleep beside me. He’s always gone, always working." Each complaint sounded more like a confession. Aurora didn’t say anything when Serena ranted. She just listened, expression blank. But inwardly, she thought Anthom was lucky. Lucky not to be dragged too deep into Serena’s bitterness. Lucky to have distance. Aurora grabbed her phone and slid it into her pocket. As she stepped into the hallway, the noise from the dining room reached her. Silverware clinking. Light, forced laughter. The low rumble of male voices. Her mother’s voice drifted through first, sharp and polished. Her stepfather responded with a calm steadiness. Then Serena’s voice—brighter, fake cheerful, but cracked with a familiar whine. "He didn’t even return home this week. Not once. And he told me he was in Geneva, but he wasn’t. I checked. I always check." Aurora slowed her pace. "He doesn’t even pretend to love me anymore. I don’t know what else to do. He just disappears and expects me to smile in front of people like everything's perfect." There it was again. The script. Different words, same story. Aurora exhaled through her nose, turned the corner, and stopped just short of the dining room entrance. Through the crack in the doorway, she could see the table had been extended. At least ten people were seated, and a few servers stood by the walls like decorations. Anthom wasn’t visible from her angle, but she could hear him now. His voice was deep, measured. "There was a delay at the Zurich terminal. A ship carrying sensitive inventory. I stayed to handle it." Cold. Precise. No extra words. A man with little need to explain himself. Her mother spoke next. “We understand, Anthom. Business before all. We’re just glad you could make time to be here tonight." "Of course." Aurora hated this theater. Before she stepped in, she caught sight of someone new. A boy, maybe her age or slightly older, sitting beside a woman who looked like his mother. He wore an expensive suit, though it looked too stiff for him. His eyes scanned the table like he was trying too hard. That had to be the setup. Aurora straightened her back, stepped in, and made her way to the empty chair at the far end. Not next to Serena. Not next to the boy. Her mother gave her a tight smile. Her stepfather gave a polite nod. Serena raised one eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. Aurora ignored them all. She pulled out her chair quietly and sat. Somewhere, in another part of the world, her best friend was supposed to be calling. But for now, all Aurora could do was sit through this dinner and wait.