Twice, Luna They Left Behind Chapter 01

Twice, Luna They Left Behind Chapter 01

The night the old house on the Blackthorn Pack estate caught fire, Mom and Dad ran inside twice.

The first time, they carried out my little brother Leo.

The second time, they grabbed his Pack Math Olympiad trophy and his admission paperwork for Royal Pack Academy.

I was trapped in the second-floor bedroom, pounding on the door for an endless stretch of time. My wolf slammed against my chest until she slipped into unconsciousness.

When the Pack firefighters found me, one of them said, “Lucky kid. Another five minutes and the whole floor would’ve collapsed.”

I spent forty-seven days in Blackthorn Pack Hospital.

Mom and Dad visited me six times.

Four of those visits were because they were already in the building.

Every time she came, Mom kept repeating the same thing.

“Your brother’s barely been functional since that night.”

“If the Alpha heir can’t pull himself together, what happens to the Pack?”

Blackthorn Pack’s old laws have always favored the direct male bloodline.

So even though I outperformed Leo in everything, all Mom and Dad ever saw was Leo’s Alpha bloodline—the future that had to be protected.

The day I was discharged, I grabbed my own bag of meds and took a cab back to the Blackthorn Pack estate.

From a distance, I could already see the yard packed with balloons and streamers.

Leo stood behind a three-tier cake, blowing out the candles.

Mom was recording him on her phone.

Dad was patting his shoulder, beaming with pride.

The whole yard was clapping for him.

They kept saying Leo was a child blessed by the Moon Goddess.

I stood outside the gate, my body still wrapped in bandages from the fire.

Not a single person in that yard turned to look at me.

That was the moment it finally clicked.

They hadn’t failed to hear me in that fire.

They’d simply decided I mattered less than Leo.

The next day, I walked into the academic office at Blackthorn Prep and submitted my transfer application.

If burning alive didn’t make them look back, then I was done waiting for them to turn around.

Starting today, I’m done being the daughter the Blackthorn Pack treats like an afterthought.

And I’m done waiting for anyone to turn back and save me.

***

When I stepped out of the academic office, the sunlight was blinding.

I glanced down at the back of my right hand.

A thick, ugly burn scar curled across my skin like a centipede.

Today was supposed to be my first real checkup since getting out. Stitches out. Nerve tests. See if my hand was ever going to work right again.

One week ago, my mom stood beside my hospital bed, scrolling through her planner.

“Next Wednesday. I can do Wednesday afternoon. I’ll take you.”

It was the first promise she’d made me since the fire—and the only one.

I pushed the front door open.

Two 28-inch Rimowa suitcases were lying wide open on the living room floor.

Mom was folding brand-new summer clothes into them, piece by piece.

Dad sat on the sofa, adjusting his frameless glasses and double-checking flight details on his tablet.

Leo was sprawled out on the rug, clutching the latest gaming console.

“You’re back,” Mom said, without looking up. Her voice was as even as when she lectures her graduate students.

“Yeah.”

“Perfect timing. Hand me the sunscreen from the coffee table.”

I didn’t move.

I stared at those two massive suitcases.

“Mom, it’s Wednesday.”

Her hands paused over a stack of clothes for a split second.

“I know.”

“Two o’clock this afternoon. My follow-up.”

Mom stood up and brushed the dust off her pants.

“Lydia, plans changed,” she said.

There was no guilt in her voice. Just notification.

“Leo’s barely slept in two days. His psychologist says his PTSD is spiraling.”

“So?”

“So your father and I decided—two weeks in the Maldives. A full sensory reset.”

Dad set his tablet down and added his usual line.

“Coastal environment regulates the nervous system. It’s the optimal solution.”

Optimal solution.

They’re respected professors and researchers at the university.

My father is the Alpha of Blackthorn Pack and a research professor. My mother is the Luna; she teaches psychology.

They’re masters at dressing up every act of favoritism in cold, clinical theory.

Everything they do runs on logic, data, and optimal solutions.

I’m just the variable their formula always discards.

My right hand was still oozing under the gauze. I lifted it so she couldn’t pretend not to see. “The doctor said if I skip today, I could lose function in my fingers. Permanently.”

Mom frowned.

She hates it when I push back like that.

“You’re a high school student, Lydia. Fully mobile. The hospital is three subway stops away. You don’t need a chaperone.”

“Leo is fifteen, and he’s barely holding it together right now. His therapist is genuinely concerned.”

“A little empathy wouldn’t kill you. But instead you’re stuck on the logistics. Who physically occupies the chair next to you. That’s what matters to you?”

Logistics.

Forty-seven days in the hospital.

The screaming when they cleaned the burns.

The nights I lay awake, soaked in sweat from the pain.

To her, all of that was just an item on her to-do list she never got around to.

Leo set down his console and looked over at me.

There was no fear in his eyes, only undisguised smugness.

“Lydia, if you’re gonna be upset, maybe I just won’t go,” he said, lowering his voice and dropping his gaze.

“I mean, yeah, I keep seeing the fire every time I shut my eyes, but Lydia’s thing matters more, right? I can just deal with it. Alone. Here.”

Mom immediately walked over and stroked his head.

“Don’t be ridiculous. The flights are already booked.”

She turned to me, and her eyes went cold.

“Lydia, I don’t have the energy for this right now. Stop stirring up drama.”

“Your hand is a known variable. Dressing changes, time, follow the protocol. You’ll be fine.”

“Leo’s trauma is still evolving. If we don’t intervene now, the damage could be permanent. That’s the priority.”

Dad checked his watch.

“Alright, time’s up. The ride-share’s almost here.”

He stood, grabbed both suitcases.

Mom picked up the sunscreen and her sunglasses.

“I sent you some cash. You’re on your own for the next two weeks.”

They headed for the door.

The door swung open.

“Mom.”

I called out to her.

Mom looked back, irritation already written on her face.

“You promised me.”

“Lydia, do you not understand plain English?”

She sighed, like she was dealing with a slow student who just couldn’t get the material.

“A promise isn’t a contract, Lydia. Conditions changed. So did the plan.”

“Life is variables. You adjust. You don’t cling to a few words like they’re sacred.”

The door closed.

Bang.

My wolf went quiet in my chest.

She didn’t claw at the door anymore. She’d stopped waiting for anyone’s footsteps.

The living room fell back into dead silence.

I stood there, staring at the follow-up slip on the coffee table—the one they hadn’t even thought to ask about.

I picked up my phone and checked my balance.

Mom had transferred a painfully small sum for my expenses—while their beachside healing resort in the Maldives ran twenty-five hundred dollars a night.

I put my phone away, changed my shoes, and walked out the door alone.