CRESCENT BOUND

THREAT

Elara's POV

The sunlight struck my face even before I opened my eyes.

I woke up slowly, as if wading through thick water. My head throbbed with a dull, heavy pain right behind my eyes. I blinked my eyelids, staring at the ceiling, and for a second, I didn't know where I was. Then the familiar c***k in the plaster above the couch came into focus, as well as the soft wool blanket draped over me. I was home.

I sat up too fast, and the room spun. My hand flew to my forehead. What happened last night? I remembered leaving school. The cold air. The moon is huge and bright. And then nothing. Just a black hole, as if someone had erased the middle of my memory.

The smell of hot buttered toast and honey drifted from the kitchen.

"Grandmother?" I called out, massaging my temples.

"Finally awake?" Her voice reached me, soft but firm. "I was wondering when you'd surface."

I got up, my legs a little wobbly, and walked toward the kitchen. Mara was standing by the stove, her gray hair pulled back, her movements slow and sure. She flipped a pancake onto a plate and placed it on the wooden table, next to a cup of already poured tea.

"Good morning," I said, sitting down. "How did I get here? I don't remember walking back."

She sat across from me, her dark eyes sharp and observant. "I came home late last night. I found you curled up on the couch, fast asleep. I figured you were tired. I didn't want to wake you."

I nodded, but it didn't feel right. I wasn't the type to fall asleep on the couch with the front door unlocked. And my head never hurt like that unless something was wrong. But I brushed the thought away and grabbed my fork.

"School was unusual," I said in a low voice.

Mara stopped, her hand resting on her teacup. "Go on."

I told her everything. From the moment I walked into that classroom, the way everyone went quiet when I sat down. Kaelen Blackwood, cold and cruel, telling me I was in his place, in his school, in his air. Lila and the others surrounding my desk, as if I were the problem. The way Kaelen had threatened to break me.

Then the office, his father, Roderick, staring at me as if he knew all my secrets, demanding to see my locket and ordering me to stay away from his son, or else I'd be gone before morning.

I watched her face as I spoke. At first, she was calm. But when I pronounced the name Blackwood, her fingers tightened around her cup until her knuckles turned white. When I mentioned Roderick, her lips pressed into a thin, hard line. And when I finished, when I told her about the rules, the threats, and the way they both looked at the locket as if it belonged to them, her face twisted with pure, sharp contempt.

Mara stood up abruptly, clearing the plates as if she needed to occupy her hands. "You must stay away from them, Elara. No matter what happens."

"But I can't just pretend none of this happened, Grandmother," I insisted, leaning forward across the table. "They looked at me like I was a criminal. Kaelen acted like I had committed a crime just by breathing the same air, and his father threatened to throw me out before sunrise. Why do they care so much about a simple silver locket?"

Mara stopped cleaning, and her back turned to me for a long, tense moment. When she finally spun around, her expression was a mix of sorrow and fierce protection. "You don't understand the depth of what you're holding onto, Elara. That locket isn't just jewelry. It's a beacon. To them, it represents everything they tried to destroy years ago."

"Destroy?" My voice shook slightly. "What are you talking about? Who are they, really?"

"Listen to me," she said, her voice dropping into a harsh, warning whisper that seemed to echo in the small kitchen. "Don't cross their path, whatever it costs you. Not Kaelen. Not Roderick. None of them. If they speak to you, walk away. If they stand near you, go somewhere else. Don't look at them. Don't answer them. And whatever you do, do not let them see that locket open."

Her words chilled me to the bone. "Why? What are they?"

She stepped back, wiping her hands on her apron. "They are dangerous. That's all you need to know. They don't play fair. They don't forgive. And they don't let go once they've set their sights on something."

"Me?" I murmured, my chest tightening. "Are they watching me?"

"More than you think," she said, her eyes dark with worry. "They have spies everywhere, eyes in the trees, and ears against the walls. They don't just protect their territory; they hunt anything that enters it uninvited."

"Then why did you send me there?" I asked, my voice trembling with a sudden surge of frustration and fear. "If you knew how dangerous they were, why put me right in the lion's den?"

Mara sat back down, her face both hard and sad. "I sent you there thinking it would be safe. That they wouldn't look for their enemy's daughter in their own hallways. I was wrong."

"Their enemy?" My heart raced. "My mother?"

Mara stood up quickly, as if she had said too much. "Finish your breakfast. You need to leave early. Go straight to class. Don't stop. Don't take shortcuts through the trees. And come straight home when the bell rings. No detours. No delays."

"Grandmother, please, you have to tell me more," I pleaded, grabbing the edge of the table. "I walked out of that school last night and heard things in the woods. Things that didn't sound human. I'm living in the middle of a nightmare, and you're keeping secrets!"

"I am keeping you alive," Mara snapped back, her voice ringing with absolute authority that silenced me instantly. She took a deep, shuddering breath, her shoulders sagging. "Promise me, Elara. Please. Do exactly as I say. Otherwise, I might lose you too."

I slowly nodded, my chest tight with questions she wouldn't answer. "I promise you."

I got up to grab my bag from the living room and froze.

The front door was slightly open. It's just a c***k. Enough to let in the cold morning air.

I was sure I hadn't left it open. And grandmother had said she found me asleep on the couch, which means she had locked it when she came home.

I walked over and closed it. On the handle, neat and shiny against the dark wood, was a single muddy footprint.

A man's boot. Too big. Too heavy.

And placed on the doormat, as if someone had carefully laid it down before leaving, was something that turned my blood to ice.

A black feather.

And underneath, written in dark, dried ink on a scrap of paper:

"I know who you are. And I'm coming back."