CHAPTER 1
LUNA
There are many reasons to believe I’m not a sentimental person, but perhaps the clearest is my utter hatred for fate.
It hasn’t mattered how coincidental the events in my life have aligned themselves—the thought of a future outside calculations is so cowardly avoidant it’s hard to give credit to anyone who even utters the wordfateordestinyorsoul mates, or anything else along those nonsensical lines.
In the end, our life is our own, decided by the choices we’ve made and by the way we’ve responded to the choices of others and the happenings of the world around us.
So then, when my groggy eyes pop open, lashes brushing thick material that blackens my world, the first thought that pops into my mind is…
What have I done?
The gasp that rips through my lungs echoes as I jolt up, hands digging into something hard and damp. The jagged edges of rock, metallic and moist, the scent so strong it coats my mouth.
Or maybe it’s something else. Copper coiled around a sandpaper tongue.
Blood?
A whimper breaks through the dark: thin, strained, unfamiliar yet somehow mine. I reach for the blindfold, but my hand feels heavy and weak. I smack myself in the face, disoriented, worse than I should be.
Not blood.
Drugs.
I claw the blindfold off and slam it down with a fist, stripping myself of a pause I wish I’d taken.
Candle-light licks up damp rock encaging me in a tiny cell. I scoot backward on rough earth until my back bangs against stone.
“Hello?” I call out, unease reverberating off the walls of what can only be a cave. Deep, dark, no outside light to hint at how far the tunnel extends past the metal bars.
No response. Not a sound other than the thump in my ears.
I shuffle to a crouch and dart my eyes like an animal searching for predators. The cell looks made for two, but it feels crowded. Stale air hangs with particles of threat that cling to my skin and settle in my throat.
I can taste it, feel it, smell it, and it’s almost enough to send my survival instincts into full gear. A fatal mistake—not only a waste of adrenaline, but a reveal of cards. A flare announcing my readiness to fight, attack,survive.
I’ve never woken up in a cave, but I know predators. What they crave, how they see, what excites and what soothes. The worst thing you could do is look anything but weak.
I close my eyes for half a breath.
Don’t react.
Tune.
“Who—Who’s there?” When my elbow scrapes jagged stone, I jolt. Gasp. Turn.
I rise fast, hands folding over my stomach.
“Hello?!” I yell, my voice loud and sharp. Intentionally scared. A lioness disguised as a mouse.
No response. Again.
Regroup.
Where am I?
I look around as if it’s necessary. It’s a cell deep within a cave, already established. But I still let my eyes study the sleek, metal bars—all black with minimal dust. Not a trace of rust, despite the damp air.
