"How is she?" Mia heard Lorana's voice behind her, soft but laced with concern. She wasn't surprised. She had seen her sister's shadow lingering in the hallway long before Freya retreated upstairs to sleep. Mia didn't turn around. Her eyes remained fixed on the staircase, as if watching it might somehow offer answers. "She finally fell asleep," she said quietly. "But it wasn't easy." The silence that followed was heavy. Even without looking, Mia could feel the tension radiating from Lorana—the same worry they all carried, unspoken but suffocating. Everyone in the house was on edge. The unease that clung to Freya wasn't something they could ignore anymore. Whatever was haunting her went beyond sleepless nights and vacant stares. It was something deeper, something dark. And yet, their parents acted as if nothing was wrong. That alone made things worse. "They know something," Lorana said, breaking the silence. Her voice had shifted—firmer now, tinged with suspicion. "Mom and Dad. They've been avoiding questions, brushing everything off like it's normal. But it's not. Freya's not okay, and they know why. They keep making her believe that she's just imagining things in her head." Mia finally turned to face her sister. Lorana's arms were crossed tightly over her chest, her brows furrowed in a way that mirrored Mia's own thoughts. "I've seen the way Mom flinches whenever Freya mentions her dreams," Mia murmured. "And Dad... he hasn't looked her in the eye in days." A cold silence stretched between them, the kind that made the air feel thick and hard to breathe. Somewhere in the distance, a floorboard creaked—too far to be Freya, too deliberate to be random. Lorana took a cautious step closer to Mia. "Do you think they're afraid of her?" Mia didn't answer right away. She hated the thought. Freya was their little sister. The same girl who used to sneak into their beds during storms, who sang off-key while brushing her hair, who cried during sad movies. But lately... she hadn't been the same. And maybe, just maybe, fear wasn't so far-fetched. "I don't know," she finally whispered. "But something's wrong. You felt it too, didn't you? That thing in her room last night?" Lorana nodded slowly, her face pale. "It felt... heavy. Like the air wasn't meant to be breathed in there." Mia glanced up the stairs again. "And this morning, she didn't remember anything. Said she slept fine. But I heard her, Lorana. She was crying in her sleep. Begging someone not to take her." Lorana's breath hitched. "Not to take her?" Mia nodded. "She kept saying 'not again.' Over and over." Lorana's hand suddenly gripped Mia's arm. "Mia... What if this has happened before? What if that's what Mom and Dad are hiding?" Mia's stomach turned at the possibility. She'd always assumed Freya's odd behavior was new—brought on by stress, or nightmares. But what if this wasn't the first time? What if there was a history buried so deep their parents refused to speak of it? From upstairs, a faint thud echoed, followed by silence. Both girls froze. "That came from Freya's room," Mia whispered. Lorana didn't move. Her eyes were locked on the ceiling above them, wide and unblinking. Then came the whisper. So faint, so slow, it almost sounded like wind curling through the cracks in the walls. But it wasn't. It was a voice. And it was calling Freya's name. Not once. But twice. "Freya..." "Freya..." The sound wasn't loud, but it was unmistakable. Neither Mia nor Lorana moved at first. Their bodies are locked in place by something older than fear—instinct. As if their very bones recognized the presence now brushing against their world. It was clear that this time, both sisters heard it. They didn't speak. They simply ran. They rushed up the stairs two at a time, hearts thudding, breath short. The hallway seemed longer in the dark, as if the house itself had stretched. As they neared Freya's door, the temperature dropped, a biting cold that slipped beneath their clothes and wrapped around their spines. Lorana barged into Freya's room. Only to stop dead in her tracks. Freya was asleep. Peacefully. Curled beneath her blanket, face turned toward the window, her baby-soft features bathed in moonlight. She looked… innocent. Dreaming. Untouched by whatever had just moved through the house like a shadow given breath. Lorana turned to stare at Mia in confusion—and something deeper. Fear. "You heard her name, right? It wasn't just me? You felt the presence too?" she asked, voice unsteady, desperate for validation. Desperate to believe she wasn't losing her grip on reality. Mia nodded, her throat too dry to speak at first. "Yes," she managed. "I heard it too. Clear as day." She took a few cautious steps into the room, half-expecting something to reach out from the walls and drag her away. But nothing moved. The only sound was Freya's gentle breathing. "Lorana," Mia said slowly, "something is definitely wrong. Either with us... or with Freya. But either way, we have to find out what the problem is." Lorana sat on the edge of Freya's bed, brushing her sister's hair back with trembling fingers. "I don't want to believe it, Mia. But what if this... this thing that's happening to her... it's not just dreams or paranoia. What if it's tied to something real? Something dangerous?" Mia looked around the room. "What if someone's calling her? Reaching for her through the dreams?" "Someone like… a mate?" Lorana's voice was barely a whisper. But the word hung in the air like a curse. The sisters stared at one another. It wasn't far-fetched—not in a world where fated bonds existed, where the Moon Goddess wove destinies with threads of silver and sacrifice. And some bonds… weren't beautiful. Some were monstrous. "What if that's why they've been hiding things?" Mia asked, sinking to the floor, her legs suddenly weak. "What if Freya was… chosen… by someone she's not supposed to remember?" Lorana rubbed her hands over her face, trying to dispel the chill crawling over her skin. "We need answers. And we're not getting them from watching and waiting." "You're right." Mia stood. "If Mom and Dad won't tell us the truth, we'll find it ourselves." They exchanged a look—a shared vow passing between them. Tomorrow, they'd start digging.
