The leap through Room 12
Pine needles sliced Lily's calves as she ran. Daisy's fingers dug into her neck; Finn's sneakers battered her hip. No one cried—just sharp, startled gulps that matched her own.
Behind them the hotel sign flickered once, then vanished.
She skidded down dry leaves, ankle rolling on hidden stone. Pain flared—she kept moving. The forest smelled of rain and rust.
A creek appeared—narrow, brown. She leapt, landed sloppy, water to her knees. Cold shot through bone.
On the far bank she crouched, let the twins slide to the ground.
Daisy's lip trembled. "Mommy, shoes wet."
Lily pressed a finger to her own lips—quiet.
Finn stared back the way they'd come, thumb plugging his mouth.
No footsteps. No cracking twigs.
Only wind threading branches.
She unclipped her ponytail, listened.
A bird called—too even, mechanical. Hunter's whistle.
She scooped the twins again, pain lighting in her ankle, and limped deeper into shadow.
Ten minutes later trees thinned onto an old service road. Gravel rattled under a green dumpster. Beyond it a shuttered ice-cream stand sagged beneath vines.
She ducked behind the dumpster, set the twins on cold concrete.
Her phone buzzed—unknown number. She declined. It buzzed again—voice-mail.
She held the speaker to her ears
Static. Then a voice smooth as glass: "Lily Moon. I have your mate's blood on my knuckles. Call back before the moon rises or he bleeds out." Click.
Her stomach dropped.
Daisy tugged her sleeve. "Is Daddy hurt?"
She stared at the screen. No way to know if the voice lied. But the wolf had stood in the road, dart feathers at his throat. Then the thud.
She pressed her forehead to the metal, felt the sting of cold.
Options flicked like cards. Run farther—stay hidden. Answer—risk trap.
Finn sneezed. The sound echoed off aluminum.
She wiped her wet jeans, decision hardening.
If Kade was dying, it was because he'd drawn them off her trail. Debt or not, she couldn't let him die in the dirt.
She tapped redial.
One ring. Two.
Pick-up, no greeting—just ragged breathing.
She kept her voice low. "Put him on."
A laugh. "Can't. He's furry at the moment. Fur soaks up blood, did you know?"
Her jaw ached. "What do you want?
"The pups. Trade at the old observatory. Midnight. Come alone or I start cutting pieces off."
She shut her eyes. "Proof of life."
A pause, then a muffled grunt—pain, unmistakable.
Kade's voice, rough: "Lily—don't—" Cut short by a smack.
Line went dead.
She lowered the phone, palms damp.
Daisy pressed closer. "Bad man?"
Lily forced a nod.
Finn whispered, "We hide?
She looked at them—silver eyes, too trusting. Hide forever, or fight tonight.
She exhaled. "We're going to get Daddy."
Daisy's face lit, scared but sure.
Lily checked the sky—sun already tilting. Six hours till midnight.
She needed wheels, weapons, allies. None within reach.
She peered around the dumpster. Across the road, a church parking lot sat empty except for a dusty minivan and a white courier truck, driver's door open, keys dangling.
She hoisted the twins. "Quick quiet game, okay?"
They nodded, mouths zipped.
She crossed the road at a limping jog, every step sending sparks up her leg.
At the truck she set the kids inside the passenger well, buckled them together with one strap.
Keys were real, still swinging.
She climbed in, adjusted the seat, foot hovering over the pedal.
A voice barked behind her. "Hey!
A man in courier uniform strode from the church, coffee sloshing.
Lily's throat closed.
She turned the key. Engine coughed, caught.
The courier broke into a run.
She slammed reverse, tires spitting gravel.
He reached the tailgate, slapped it. "Stop!"
She shifted to drive and punched the gas. Truck lurched onto the road.
In the rear-view, the courier fumbled his phone.
She took the first left, then right, weaving until landmarks blurred.
When the gauge showed half a tank, she pulled behind a closed laundromat and killed the engine.
Silence pounded.
Daisy whispered, "We stole?"
"Borrowed," Lily breathed. "We'll bring it back."
Finn pointed to the dashboard clipboard—delivery list. Top address: Silver Pines Hotel.
Her laugh came out cracked. Full circle.
She tore the page off, stuffed it in her pocket, then studied the cargo area behind the seats. Boxes, envelopes—and a heavy black case, locked.
She wedged it open with a tire iron. Inside, foam cutouts held two flare guns and road flares. Not much against rifles, but better than bare hands.
She loaded one, tucked it under the seat.
Her phone showed 5:42 p.m.
Observatory sat on the mountain ridge west of town—thirty minutes up switchbacks. She'd been there once, years ago; the dome had rust holes like star maps.
She pictured the layout: single road, cliff on three sides, control building at the peak. One entrance, easy to guard. Trap, plain and simple.
She started the truck. "Hold hands, close eyes, think happy thoughts."
Twins obeyed, small fingers laced.
She pulled onto the road and headed for the mountain.
Dusk bled across the windshield, staining the sky bruise-purple. Headlights flicked on automatically.
Every mile, she checked the mirror. No tail—yet.
At the base of the ridge, a wooden sign read OBSERVATORY 8 mi. A smaller metal plate had been bolted beneath: CLOSED AFTER DARK.
She drove past, engine straining upward
Trees thinned to scrub, then to bare rock. The air turned colder, seeping through the vents.
Halfway up, headlights caught a shape on the shoulder—her foot hit brakes.
A wolf, gray, lying on its side, ribs lifting shallow.
Fresh blood darkened the gravel.
She eased the truck closer, beams flooding the scene.
Not Kade—too small, lighter fur. Still, her stomach twisted.
A red collar glinted—tracker.
She scanned the ridge above. Nothing moved.
She couldn't stop; she couldn't leave it.
She grabbed the flare gun, climbed out.
Wind whipped her apron, the fabric snapping like a flag.
The wolf whimpered as she neared, ears flat.
She raised her hands, whispered nonsense, and knelt.
The wound was clean—a graze along the shoulder, not deep. Tranquilizer dart lay nearby, empty.
She broke the collar buckle, tossed tracker into the ravine.
The wolf struggled up, limped three steps, then bolted into dark.
Lily let out a breath.
A twig cracked upslope.
She whipped the flare gun toward the sound.
Silhouettes stood on the ridge line—three, maybe four. Rifles outlined against the dying light.
One raised a radio.
She backed to the truck, yanked the door.
Engine still running.
She slammed reverse, gravel spraying.
A spotlight speared the darkness, blinding white.
"Stop the vehicle!" Loudspeaker.
She floored it, truck skidding backward down the curve.
Rifles cracked—sharp pops echoing off rock.
Rear window spider-webbed.
Twins screamed.
She fought the wheel, spun into forward gear, and barreled uphill again, lights off.
Spotlight swept, searching. She killed headlights, driving by moonwash, heart hammering steel on bone.
Around a bend, she cut the engine and coasted into a shallow turnout tucked behind boulders.
Darkness swallowed them.
She clapped a hand over her own mouth to silence her breathing.
Footsteps crunched uphill—closer, then fading.
Radio chatter drifted: "Lost visual. Spread out."
She waited until silence returned, then longer.
When her pulse slowed enough, she checked the twins. Finn sobbed silently; Daisy petted his hair, whispering lullabies.
Lily reloaded the flare gun with shaking fingers.
Midnight was an hour away.
She studied the ridge—she could abandon the road, climb the rocky spine on foot, come at the observatory from the cliff side. Harder with kids, but guns waited on the road.
She opened the glovebox, found a pen and receipt. She scribbled: IF WE DON'T RETURN BY DAWN, CALL 911. COORDINATES HERE. She added the observatory name, stuffed it under the wiper where wind wouldn't steal it.
She unbuckled the twins. "New game: mountain goats."
They nodded, tears drying.
She slung Finn on her back, carried Daisy on her hip, and started up the steep slope beside the turnout. Rocks slid under her sneakers; each step punched her sore ankle.
Halfway, the dome's outline appeared above—black circle cutting starlight.
She circled until the building's back wall faced her, window cracked, interior dark.
She set the twins behind a boulder, pressed a finger to their lips.
Gun in pocket, she crept to the window.
Inside, moonlight spilled across the concrete floor. Kade lay human-shaped, wrists chained to a bolt in the center. Blood striped his left temple, but his chest rose.
Victor stood near the telescope, back to her, checking a tablet. Two guards flanked the only door.
She ducked, mind racing. Flare gun versus rifles no match. She needed chaos.
Her gaze lifted to the dome's roof—old gears, cables, grease-black. A maintenance lever jutted near the wall. She recalled the guide years ago: emergency release drops the entire shutter.
She studied the room again—no one stood beneath it.
She crawled to the rear door, tested the handle—unlocked.
A guard coughed.
She slipped inside, hugging shadow, and reached the lever.
Victor's voice echoed low: "She'll come. They always come."
She wrapped both hands around the lever.
Metal creaked.
Victor turned.
Eyes met hers—cold, amused.
He smiled. "Welcome, Lily."
Rifles snapped up.
She yanked the lever hard.
Chains clanked overhead.
The dome shutter screamed open—moonlight flooding like water
Dust exploded.
Men shouted.
In the chaos, Kade lifted his head, eyes blazing silver.
And from the open roof, a black wolf leapt down, landing between Lily and the guns—ears flat, fangs bared.
Not Kade.
Bigger.
Familiar.
Her father—presumed dead three years.
He snarled once, then lunged.
The guards' rifles swung toward the new threat.
Lily's heart stopped.
A single shot cracked.
The wolf mid-air jerked, twisted, crashed to the floor—motionless.
Blood pooled, black under moonlight.
Victor's smile widened. "Bring the pups in. Let's finish the set."