The Masked Luna

Run

The door opened and my father stood there.

The moment his eyes landed on me, the color drained from his face.

Shock was written all over him.

For several seconds, neither of us moved.

Then he grabbed my arm and pulled me inside before quickly shutting the door behind me.

My legs locked in place. Frozen.

No words came, no matter how hard I tried.

Tears had already filled my eyes.

My father stared at me as though he had seen a ghost.

"Elara," he whispered. "What are you doing here?"

My lips parted yet nothing came out.

A second attempt only produced a broken stutter.

"H-how..."

My stepmother, Hannah, stood a few feet away, staring at me with the same disbelief. Then her expression hardened.

"Talk."

A flinch ran through me.

"Talk, girl!"

She stepped closer.

"If the Northern Pack finds you here, what do you think they're going to do to us?"

The tears finally spilled.

"I'm..."

Trembling hands wiped my face.

"I'm back."

My voice cracked.

"I'm back home."

My father's expression changed.

But before he could say anything, my eyes locked on his.

"So you're relieved?"

He went silent.

"You're relieved that you sent me away?"

Anger trembled through my voice.

"You sent me to that ruthless Alpha. The Alpha who has terrorized humans and even other packs. You sent me there knowing exactly what he was capable of."

My father's head dropped.

"You sent me there to be torn apart by an animal."

He said nothing and Hannah folded her arms.

“Then why are you so agitated?"

My gaze snapped to her.

"What?"

"We had to do it," she said coldly. "We had a debt to clear."

"I cleared it!" My voice rose. "I spent five years saving that money!"

My attention shifted back to my father.

"Five years of my life!"

Tears streamed down my face.

"I saved every little amount I could. I gave you everything I had so you could clear that debt."

My father's face tightened.

"But you still sent me away."

He finally looked at me.

"I had to use the money."

My chest tightened.

"For what?"

"For Clara."

Disbelief held me still as he continued.

"Your sister's education was more important. She needed to finish school. We couldn't afford to lose that opportunity."

"So you used the money I spent five years saving..."

The words came out barely audible.

"...to pay for Clara's education?"

He nodded slowly.

"She has a future ahead of her."

"And I don't?"

He looked away.

"You could survive the Northern Pack."

A bitter laugh escaped me.

"Survive?"

The tears kept coming, no matter how many times I wiped them.

"You sent me to an Alpha who treated people like possessions, and you thought I should simply survive?"

Hannah scoffed.

"Oh, please! Close your mouth."

My head turned toward her.

"You know very well that you and your mother were no longer needed in this house."

Her words struck harder than expected.

"You're better off in the Northern Pack."

Silence settled between us as I stared at her.

Then my father's expression shifted sharply towards me.

"What have you done?"

My heart stopped and I was taken aback.

"What?"

"What have you done, Elara?"

His voice sharpened.

"Why are you here?"

Cold dread spread through my blood.

He knew.

Not the details, not yet, but he knew something had gone terribly wrong.

My eyes dropped to the floor. The truth stuck in my throat, too heavy to release.

Neither of them could know that I had killed Bolton.

And if the Northern Pack came looking for me, they could come looking for everyone in this house too.

Despite the betrayal, I wouldn't put them in that danger. I was better off after all.

So I swallowed the truth and Instead, my gaze moved to Hannah, then back to my father.

"I hope Clara gets everything you wanted for her."

My voice shook.

"I hope she finds a good life."

A forced smile broke through the tears.

"And I hope you both find whatever happiness you think you deserve."

Hannah rolled her eyes.

But my father spoke.

"Clara has a brighter future than you ever did."

His eyes held mine.

"She is more intelligent. More capable. She has more potential."

He paused.

"We have to invest in the child who can actually make something of herself."

Something cracked inside my chest.

"So that's what I am?"

He didn't answer.

"A loser?"

Silence.

A slow nod was all I could manage.

Then something inside me snapped.

"You dare say that because my mother isn't here?"

My father's eyes widened.

"You dare say all of this because the woman who would have defended me isn't here?"

A finger shot toward Hannah.

"You listen to this woman who killed my mother—"

Smack!

The slap came so suddenly my head snapped to the side.

Silence filled the room.

My cheek burned. Tears slid down, hot against the sting.

My father stood over me, breathing heavily.

"Don't you ever speak about my wife like that again."

He was the man who was supposed to protect me. The man I had spent years trying to help.

Understanding settled in, cold and final.

There was nothing left here.

Without another word, I turned and ran.

The small wardrobe in my room flew open.

Clothes, whatever I could grab, got stuffed into a bag.

I was going away, for good.

I lodged at a small hotel in another part of the city and bought a long matya covering and a black face mask.

If I had to survive, then I needed to remain anonymous.

I settled at the side of the bed, and the television flickered on.

The first image froze my blood.

BREAKING NEWS.

A picture of Bolton filled the screen.

I sat upright, spine rigid.

The reporter's words came fast, clipped, urgent.

"The Alpha of the Northern Pack was found dead last night under circumstances that remain unclear. Authorities within the pack have launched an extensive search for the suspected killer."

My fingers dug into the blanket, knuckles white.

The night stretched long and sleepless. I packed my few belongings into a single bag, folding what mattered and leaving the rest behind.

The long matya from the previous night went on next. It fell all the way to my ankles, hiding almost every part of me.

Then the black mask.

Only my eyes remained visible.

I wore it before going, before the cab even arrived, before I let myself step outside and become someone the world could not recognize.

The day hadn't broken well when I finally boarded the cab to the airport, the city still half asleep around me.

"Airport," I told the driver.

He nodded.

The back seat took me in, my bag held tightly against my chest.

As the car pulled away, I looked through the window.

Green Island was still waking up.

People walked along the streets. Shops were opening. Cars moved through the morning traffic.

The driver turned onto a wider road and we approached the police checkpoints.

Several officers stood in the middle of the road, stopping vehicles one after another.

My heart dropped.

"What's happening?" the driver muttered.

Silence was my only answer and my eyes stayed fixed on the officers.

They were checking cars. One by one.

The car ahead of us was stopped.

Two officers approached it and fingers tightened around my bag.

Then something in one officer's hand caught the light.

It was a sketch.

My blood ran cold.

Even from a distance, the shape of my face was recognizable.

My breathing turned shallow.

The car ahead was waved through.

Then the officer raised his hand and the driver stepped on the brake.

Two officers approached.

"Where are you going?" one asked.

"Airport," the driver replied.

The officer looked into the back seat.

His eyes landed on me.

My heart nearly stopped.

"Who's she?"

The driver glanced back.

"My passenger."

The officer looked at the sketch in his hand.

Then back at me.

"Ma'am, I need you to show your face."

My eyes dropped and I shook my head slowly

The officer frowned.

"Why?"

My voice came out steady, forced calm.

"I'm a reverend sister. We are not allowed to show our face"

The words came quietly, as I imitated those old grumpy nuns that lived beside us.

The officer looked at his colleague.

"Reverend sister?"

A nod answered him.

He studied me for a few seconds.

Then he held up the sketch.

"Have you seen this woman?"

Another shake of my head.

"No."

His eyes moved between the sketch and me again.

My heartbeat climbed into my throat.

"Do you have any identification?"

My hand moved toward my bag.

For one terrifying second, nothing that could help seemed to be in there.

Then the small uncommon cross gifted to me by one of the sisters when I was a child came to mind.

I pulled it out from my chest.

The officer examined it.

Suspicion still lingered on his face.

"Where are you going?"

"To the airport."

"For what?"

"To leave Green Island, for an exorcism"

He stared.

Then his radio crackled.

Another officer called from farther down the road.

"Let them go. We've got another vehicle."

Annoyance flickered across the officer's face as he stepped away from the cab.

"Go."

The driver immediately pressed the accelerator.

Proper breathing didn't return until the checkpoint disappeared behind us.

My hands were still trembling as the driver glanced at me through the mirror.