Luna's POV
Luna sat on the edge of her bed, her head resting in her hands, the glow of her phone screen the only faint light in the dark room.
The fight with Anton replayed in her mind, each word sharper than the last. She let out a frustrated sigh and leaned back against the headboard, staring at the ceiling.
"Fuck him," she muttered under her breath. She hated the way his words had cut her. Hated how much power he had over her emotions.
But the truth? Anton was the only person in the world who really matched her, the only one who gave her some sort of purpose. Without him… she'd just be back to her old, unfulfilling life.
She rolled over, pulling the covers tighter around her, determined to block out everything and sleep.
It didn't work.
She tossed and turned, every movement only making her more restless. Her mind wouldn't shut up, wouldn't let her breathe.
And then came thoughts about the dream.
Her mom.
The blood.
The crowd chanting in that soulless, haunting tone.
