Twice, Luna They Left Behind Chapter 02

Twice, Luna They Left Behind Chapter 02

The burn unit at Blackthorn Pack Hospital reeked of antiseptic.

Doctor Quinn cut away the gauze. Blood and fluid had fused the bandage to my skin, and the moment she pulled, I couldn’t stop the sharp hiss that escaped me.

“You’re here alone again?” she said, easing up on her movements. “Where are your parents?”

“They’re out of town.”

“This is ridiculous.”

She tossed the bloodied gauze into the medical waste bin.

“The wound is infected. I have to debride it again. It’s going to hurt like hell, and there’s no one here with you—how are you planning to get through this?”

“I’ll manage.”

I fixed my eyes on the fluorescent lights overhead.

For the next thirty minutes, I bit my lip bloody.

The local anesthetic was barely applied because Doctor Quinn said nerve-response testing had to follow right after.

Wave after wave of raw pain surged straight into my brain.

And all I could see were those two 28-inch suitcases.

Packed with toys, swim trunks, and snacks for Leo’s beach trip.

No gauze for me.

No painkillers for me.

“There’s nerve damage. That much is clear.” Doctor Quinn wrote something in my chart without looking up.

“Writing’s going to be a struggle. Lab work—anything requiring precision—is going to be even harder. You were aiming for the Physics Olympiad, weren’t you?”

“I won’t be competing,” I said, taking the forms.

“It’s fine. I’ll just take another path.”

By the time I left the hospital, it was already dark.

Fresh bandages wrapped my right hand. A bag of anti-inflammatory meds dangled from my left.

When I got home and pushed open the door to my second-floor bedroom, I froze.

The galaxy-pattern wallpaper on my walls had been ripped down.

My bedding had been swapped out for Leo’s favorite Marvel-themed set.

His gaming console sat on my desk, surrounded by scattered mecha model parts.

My stack of Physics Olympiad review notes and scratch paper—all of it was gone.

I backed out and walked to Leo’s room next door.

When I opened the door, it was filled with garbage bags of my stuff.

Bulging canvas sacks. Clothes and books crammed in haphazardly.

My old laptop was shoved beneath a pile of textbooks, the edge of its screen cracked.

My phone rang.

Video call from Dad.

I swiped to answer with my left hand.

On the screen, they were seated in an ocean-view restaurant, eating lobster with the sound of waves in the background.

“Lydia, you got your follow-up done, right?” Dad asked casually, not waiting for an answer. “Hey, forgot to tell you—Leo says his room reeks of smoke. He can’t sleep. We put him in your room.”

“Your windows face south. Good light. Good for him.”

“We were in a hurry, so we tossed your stuff next door. You’ll figure it out.”

Just moved.

I stared at the canvas sacks on the floor.

“Where are my competition notes?”

“What notes?”

“On my desk. Three blue notebooks.”

Leo leaned into the frame, a piece of crab meat still in his mouth.

“Lydia, you mean those scribbled-up notebooks?” he said. “They were just sitting there, so I used them to level my desk. The cleaning lady probably tossed them already.”

His smile was perfectly innocent.

“Anyway, your hand’s busted. You can’t write anymore, so they’re useless, right?”

I held his eyes.

Those three notebooks held two years of my work—the core Physics Olympiad question bank I’d built from scratch. They were the entire foundation for my direct admission and scholarship nomination.

“Leo, you did that on purpose.”

“Lydia!”

Mom’s face filled the screen, her brow furrowed deep.

“Watch your tone with your brother.”

“They were notebooks. Just notebooks. Go buy new ones and move on.”

“He’s supposed to be recovering, and you’re picking a fight over this? Over nothing?”

“That was my work.”

“Sunk cost, nothing more.”

Mom’s voice was ice, layered with academic condescension.

“Your job right now is to heal. Not obsess over a few notebooks that don’t matter.”

“Honestly, Lydia. For someone from an Alpha family, you think so small.”

“I’m done with this conversation. We’re eating. Do’nt stay up sulking.”

The video cut off.

The screen went dark, mirroring my expressionless face.

I didn’t cry. Not a single tear.

I tossed my phone onto the bed and worked the knot on one of the canvas sacks open with my left hand, pulling out a few clean clothes.

My perspective really was narrow.

I used to believe that if I was good enough—if I won gold—they’d finally spare a sliver of attention for me.

Now I get it.

I was never on their list in the first place. Even my wolf felt it. Like her very existence had been wiped from the Pack’s memory.