The Wolf's Eye

Chapter 4

We spent the next few days on our yacht with our parents. Unfortunately, Victor didn’t join us. He had more important things to do. Father didn’t mind—he believed it was high time his son focused on serious matters.

Dara was bothering me. Something was clearly going on with her. I was frustrated and couldn’t understand why she wouldn’t just tell me what was troubling her.

“Why are you sitting in the cabin? The weather is gorgeous. Come swimming with me,” I suggested.

“It’s too hot, and I’ve got a stomachache. Must’ve eaten something bad,” Dara replied.

“What’s wrong with you? You’re not yourself,” I told her.

She looked unusually pale.

“Leave me alone,” she snapped.

“Girls, what’s going on? Why aren’t you coming out?” Mom asked as she appeared. “Dad just sliced up a watermelon.”

“Dara has a stomachache,” I answered.

Mom looked at her seriously.

“What’s going on, sweetie? You’ve been acting strange for days. Maybe we should see a doctor?”

“Oh, stop it. I probably just ate something off. It happens,” Dara replied irritably.

She left the cabin, and Mom followed her to find out what she had eaten. Just as I was about to follow them, Dara’s phone started ringing. I usually never touched her gadgets—we respected each other’s boundaries—but this time, without overthinking, I picked it up to bring it to her.

“Do Not Answer” was the name flashing on the screen.

A sharp wave of anxiety gripped my chest. I stared at the ringing phone, unsure what to do. The temptation to pick up and find out who was calling—and why Dara labeled them that—was strong, but I resisted. When the phone finally stopped ringing, I saw a notification: 77 missed calls from “Do Not Answer.”

I was beginning to understand why Dara had been so moody. I decided to ask her once our parents weren’t around.

Just as I set the phone back down on the table, a message came in from “Do Not Answer.”

“We need to talk in person. I’m in town. Tonight at nine at the Moonlake Club. If you don’t come, I’ll come to you.”

The Moonlake Club was an exclusive private venue in our city. You couldn’t get in without a special pass, and it was strictly 18+.

One of my classmates once stole a pass from a friend, but she still didn’t manage to get in. No one ever talked about what went on behind those closed doors. The only rule of the club was don’t talk about the club.

Plenty of outsiders went there, and there were frequent complaints to the police about beatings and assaults—but somehow, every case was mysteriously closed within 24 hours.

Places like that never appealed to me. In fact, I feared them like fire, avoiding even conversations about them.

“Tonight at nine. If you don’t come, I’ll come to you.”

I reread the message again.

I couldn’t just let this go. I had to talk to Dara urgently. It was essential to find out who this mysterious “Do Not Answer” was—and even more important, to make sure Dara didn’t go to the club. Especially not alone.

I climbed up to the deck. Mom was fussing over Dara, saying her symptoms might be serious and that if it really were food poisoning, at least one of us would be experiencing the same thing, since we’d all eaten the same meals.

Suddenly, I had an idea—to play along with Dara, so Mom would focus on me instead.

“Ooooh… oww…” I groaned dramatically.

“What’s wrong?” Mom asked.

“It hurts,” I played up the act. “How do you even stand this?” I asked Dara.

“What? You too?” Mom exclaimed. “Ashton, we’re going home. The girls both have stomachaches. I told you that fish wasn’t fresh!”

Everything went exactly as I hoped. Mom shifted her attention from Dara to me—and then to Dad.

“Why did you do that?” Dara asked once Mom had gone to pack up.

“What?” I smiled, sitting next to her on the couch.

“I don’t believe you have a stomachache, Clara,” she said, eyeing me.

“Right back at you. I don’t believe your condition is from a stomachache either. I think it has something to do with the mysterious ‘Do Not Answer.’ Care to tell me who he is?”

Dara’s expression changed instantly. She flushed—either from embarrassment or anger.

“Keep your voice down!” she hissed. “There’s nothing to tell.”

“Oh, I think there is,” I smiled. “Seventy-seven missed calls isn’t a joke. This mysterious guy really wants to talk to you. So why are you ignoring him?”

“Since when do you check my phone?” she asked sharply.

“Relax. I didn’t snoop. I just happened to see it and figured your mood might have something to do with all those calls. So—are you going to tell me? I’m dying of curiosity.”

“I’m not telling you anything. And from now on, stay off my phone unless you want me to rip your hair out. My personal life is none of your business. If you don’t want to get dragged into someone else’s problems, just pretend you didn’t see anything.”

She left me alone. A bitter feeling lingered. I hadn’t meant to upset her—I just wanted to help. But she clearly didn’t see it that way. I knew for sure that Dara had a problem. One she couldn’t handle alone. I didn’t want to interfere—but I couldn’t stay indifferent either.

When we returned home, the tension between us hadn’t gone away. Dara locked herself in her room and asked not to be disturbed.

In the evening, Vic came home. He and Dad spent a long time discussing something in the study before coming down to dinner together.

“Where’s Dara?” he asked.

“She’s not feeling well, darling. Probably something she ate. Don’t worry—if it doesn’t pass, I’ll take her to the doctor,” said Mom.

“Go check on her, Clara,” Dad said. “If she’s not asleep, tell her to come down for a minute. I need to talk to her about something.”

I went upstairs and knocked on her door. No answer. I knocked again.

“Dara? You awake? Dad wants to talk to you for a minute. Even Vic’s here. Come down!”

Still no answer. I knocked one last time and tried the door handle. It was locked.

I was annoyed. Even if Dara was upset with me for seeing her phone, that wasn’t a reason to ignore the whole family.

I went to my room and climbed out onto the balcony. We used to sneak into each other’s rooms this way all the time as kids.

The door to her balcony was open. I stepped into her room—but it was empty.

“Dara? Are you here?” I called softly.

No answer.

I checked the time. It was 8:35.