Twice, Luna They Left Behind Chapter 05

Twice, Luna They Left Behind Chapter 05

The Amtrak train raced along the tracks, the scenery outside blurring into streaks of green.

I leaned back in my seat and looked at the faint red mark on the back of my left hand from hauling my backpack the night before.

I’d already switched to a new SIM card.

From now on, my world contained no Dad, no Mom, and no Leo.

I closed my eyes, letting the gentle sway of the car settle over me.

It felt steady.

Two days later.

At the Pack trauma center in the neighboring state, my dad rubbed his tired brow, staring at an expensive psychological evaluation report.

“The specialist ran all the tests. Everything came back normal. No PTSD markers.”

Mom sat on the hallway bench, holding the empty wrapper from the ice cream Leo had just finished.

“Maybe he just feels more relaxed in a clinical setting. Either way, it’s good news.”

“Alpha, let’s head home tomorrow. Leo’s already whining about wanting to play with his new model.”

The next afternoon, they pushed open the front door.

—

The living room was still in the same chaos they’d left.

The broken mecha wing still sat on the floor.

“Lydia!”

Mom kicked off her shoes, her voice rising out of sheer habit.

“You’re home and you couldn’t even sweep the floor?”

Nobody answered.

Dad set the suitcases down in the entryway and frowned.

“That kid is still sulking.”

He walked over to the coffee table and picked up the consent form—still blank.

“Camp deadline’s long gone. She’s probably sulking in her room. Just go talk to her—find her some other program to smooth this over.”

Mom scoffed.

“Why do I have to be the one to fix this? She’s the one who doesn’t care about anyone else. What am I supposed to do—beg?”

Still, she walked to the guest room door and pushed it open in one hard motion.

“Lydia, how much longer are you going to drag out this attitude—”

Her voice cut off.

The guest room was completely empty.

—

The bed was made, not a single wrinkle. The closet door hung half-open, revealing only a few pieces of old clothing she’d left behind.

The desk was bare.

“Alpha!”

For the first time, something close to panic broke through Mom’s voice.

Dad walked over, took in the empty room, and his brow furrowed deep.

“She went to a friend’s house?”

“What friend? She doesn’t have friends she’d go to.”

Mom pulled out her phone and dialed my number.

“Sorry, the number you have dialed is not in service.”

The mechanical voice echoed, harsh in the silent room.

“Not in service?” Mom froze. “She canceled her number?”

Dad’s expression darkened.

“This is beyond. Throwing a runaway tantrum over one training camp slot.”

“Check if she sent anything on WhatsApp.”

Mom opened WhatsApp.

At the top of the family group chat sat a single message from me: [I’ve moved out.]

—

Below it, a gray system notification: Lydia has left the group.

She tapped into our private chat and sent a message.

It didn’t go through.

“She blocked me.”

Mom stared at the screen. That bulletproof professor act she wore everywhere? It finally cracked.

“She really left.”

“The school,” Dad snapped. “She’s gone there to make a scene. Get the academic counselor. We’re bringing her home.”