Finding Angel
Max It’s been four f*****g days. I roar, flipping my desk, sending papers and glass crashing to the floor. Tyson’s howls echo inside my head, feral and endless. My chest feels like it’s been split open—like someone ripped my heart straight out. I slam my fists into the wall, the plaster cracking, the room trembling with the force of my rage. “Max.” My father’s voice cuts through the chaos. He steps inside, eyes dark with worry, jaw tight. “Son… we’ll find her.” I can’t hold it. Not with him. Not now. His hand lands on my shoulder, steady, grounding. When he pulls me into a hug, I fall apart like a damn kid. “How am I supposed to find her,” I rasp, “when I can’t even hold my s**t together?” “She’s your Luna,” he says, voice low and thick. “The other half of your soul. This pain—it’s
- Writer
