Chapter 2 Perfect Prisoners – Luna
The autumn sunlight streams through the tall windows of the dining hall, casting golden rectangles across the polished wooden tables.
I trace the edge of one with my finger, watching dust motes dance in the beam while Erik sits across from me, working through his Advanced Mathematics homework with the kind of focused intensity that makes the tiny crease appear between his eyebrows. It’s almost peaceful. Almost normal.
Almost enough to make me forget that a couple of years ago, I was testifying against my parents in court.
“You’re staring,” Erik says without looking up from his textbook.
“I’m admiring,” I correct, taking a sip of my coffee.
It’s bitter, institutional, nothing like the expensive blends my mother used to import, but I’ve learned to appreciate the simple pleasures.
Coffee that isn’t drugged. A boyfriend who doesn’t use me.
A school that feels like a sanctuary instead of a prison.
He glances up, gray eyes catching the light, and smiles. That smile still does things to my chest, makes my heart stutter in ways that have nothing to do with fear or manipulation. Just genuine affection. Love, even though the word still feels foreign in my mouth after everything.
“How’s the math coming?” I ask.
“I’ll survive.” He closes the book, stretching his arms over his head. The movement makes his shirt ride up slightly, revealing a sliver of toned stomach, and I’m momentarily distracted. “Unlike you, who’s been staring at the same page of Wuthering Heights for twenty minutes.”
I look down at my own book, realizing he’s right.
I haven’t absorbed a single word. My mind keeps drifting, cataloging the normalcy of our surroundings.
Students studying, laughing, complaining about professors.
The smell of coffee and old books. The weight of Erik’s foot hooked around my ankle under the table, a constant point of contact that grounds me.
It’s only been a week since we returned to Shark Bay, since Selena saved us from Dominic on those cliffs, since we were given this second chance at something resembling a normal life.
One week of attending classes, doing homework, pretending we’re just regular university students instead of survivors of a criminal conspiracy that destroyed our families.
One week of relative safety, and I’m still waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“Hey.” Erik’s voice pulls me back. “Where’d you go?”
“Nowhere. Just thinking.”
“About?”
I consider lying, but Erik and I promised each other honesty. No more secrets, no more manipulation. “About how strange this feels. Being here, being safe. Having you.”
His expression softens. “Strange good or strange bad?”
“Strange… unfamiliar.” I close my book, giving up the pretense of reading. “I keep waiting for something to go wrong. For someone to show up and drag us back into the nightmare.”
“Selena won’t let that happen.” Erik reaches across the table, lacing his fingers through mine. “She’s been fighting the network from the inside for years. We’re under her protection now. The Architect’s reach doesn’t extend here.”
I want to believe him. God, I want to believe that we’ve finally found our safe harbor, that this island fortress with its Gothic architecture and stern-faced headmistress is the answer to all our problems. Selena Harpsons, with her cat-eyed glasses and no-nonsense fairness, who looked at four traumatized kids and offered them sanctuary without hesitation.
“You’re right,” I say, squeezing his hand. “I’m just being paranoid.”
“You’re allowed to be paranoid. After everything we’ve been through—everything you’ve been through—a little paranoia is healthy.” He grins. “Besides, I like protecting you. Makes me feel useful.”
“You are useful.” I lean forward conspiratorially. “You’re very useful. Especially at night, when—”
“Luna Queen.” His cheeks flush, that adorable pink that creeps up his neck when I tease him. “We’re in public.”
“I’m aware. I’m just appreciating my boyfriend’s many talents.”
“Your boyfriend is trying to study.”
“My boyfriend is easy to distract.”
He laughs, the sound warm and genuine, and I commit it to memory. These moments of lightness, of normalcy, of being two people in love instead of two survivors clinging to each other— these are the moments I want to remember when the darkness creeps back in.
Because it will. I know it will. The network didn’t fall with my or Belle’s parents’ convictions.
There are still powerful people out there who want us silenced, who see us as loose ends that need tying up.
But here, on this island, with Selena watching over us, we have time to breathe.
Time to heal. Time to plan our next move.
The dining hall door opens, and Belle walks in with Max trailing behind her.
I wave them over. I note the tension in Belle’s shoulders, the way her eyes dart around the room before settling on our table.
She looks exhausted, dark circles under her carefully made-up eyes, her perfect blonde waves pulled back in an uncharacteristically messy ponytail.
“Rough morning?” I ask as they sit down.
Belle forces a smile. “Just tired. Computer Science is kicking my ass.”
“Professor Austin giving you trouble?”
“No more than usual.” She fidgets with her coffee cup, not meeting my eyes. “How are your classes going?”
“Fine. Boring, mostly. Which is exactly what I need right now.” I study her carefully.
Belle and I have an uneasy truce—former enemies turned reluctant allies turned something almost like friends.
Our Thursday coffee meetings taught me to read her moods, to recognize when she’s spiraling.
And right now, she’s definitely spiraling. “Are you okay? You seem off.”
“I’m fine,” she says too quickly. “Just adjusting. It’s been a lot.”
She’s not wrong. Belle and Max spent months on the run. They were hunted by the network and living in constant fear. They’ve barely had time to decompress, let alone process everything that happened. I should give her space and let her adjust at her own pace.
But something in her expression nags at me. There’s a tightness around her eyes. The tension in her jaw. The same look she had when she was gathering evidence against her own parents, when she was trapped between loyalty and survival.
“If you need to talk—” I start.
“I said I’m fine.” Belle’s voice is sharp, final. She softens it with another forced smile. “Really, Luna. I just need sleep and maybe a vacation somewhere that doesn’t involve running for my life.”
Max puts a hand on her back, rubbing small circles. “We were thinking about winter break. Maybe rent a cabin somewhere remote, away from everything.”
“That sounds nice,” Erik says diplomatically, clearly sensing the tension.
I let it drop, but I file away my concern for later.
Belle’s been through hell. We all have. If she needs time to process, I can give her that.
Besides, we’re safe here. Selena made that very clear when she welcomed us back—Shark Bay is neutral ground, protected territory.
As long as we’re here, the network can’t touch us.
The conversation shifts to safer topics—homework, professors, the upcoming Halloween dance that the student council is planning. Normal university concerns. I let the words wash over me, contributing where appropriate, but my mind wanders again.
I think about the future. About what comes after we finish gathering evidence, after we testify against the remaining network members, after we finally bring down The Architect and destroy the system that destroyed our childhoods. What happens then?
Erik wants to go to law school, follow in his brother David’s footsteps.
Noble, good, exactly what I’d expect from him.
Max mentioned something about starting fresh, maybe opening a bookstore or a coffee shop, something quiet and honest. Belle…
I don’t know what Belle wants. I’m not sure she knows either.
And me? I’m still figuring that out. For so long, survival was my only goal. Stay alive, protect Alex, escape my parents’ control. I accomplished all of that, but now I’m left with the question of who Luna Queen actually is when she’s not fighting for her life.
“What do you think you’ll do?” I ask suddenly, interrupting a conversation about Professor Bennet’s latest assignment. “After all this is over. When we’re free.”
Erik looks at me, understanding immediately what I’m asking. “Law school. Use what I learned to help other kids who get trapped in systems like we were.”
“I’m playing with the idea of writing a book,” Belle says quietly. “Tell the real story, not the sanitized version the media created. Let people know what actually happens to children in these networks.”
“Travel,” Max adds. “See places that aren’t connected to any of this. Build a life that’s ours, not inherited.”
They all look at me expectantly.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “Part of me wants to disappear completely. Change my name, move somewhere remote, never look back. But another part…” I trail off, trying to articulate the restless energy that’s been building in my chest. “Another part wants to burn it all down. Every network connection, every powerful person who looked the other way, every institution that protected predators. I want to make sure no one else goes through what we did.”
“That’s ambitious,” Erik says with a small smile.
“That’s Luna,” Belle murmurs, and there’s something almost like admiration in her voice.
The doors open, and the whole room shifts.
Conversations drop to whispers. Students straighten up in their seats.
Selena Harpsons walks in—tall, elegant, wearing her usual skirt suit and those cat-eyed glasses.
Her silver hair is perfect as always. She moves through the dining hall stopping at different tables, and everyone watches her do it.
She’s making her way toward us. I can feel it, the way you feel a thunderstorm approaching.