Chapter 2 Perfect Prisoners – Luna #2
“Ms. Queen. Mr. Stone. Ms. Gallagher. Mr. Brooks.” Selena stops at our table, her pale eyes sweeping over each of us in turn. “I wanted to check on how you’re all settling in. It’s been a week since your return. I trust you’re finding everything satisfactory?”
“Very much so, Mrs. Harpsons,” I say. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for us.”
“Nonsense. My intention is for Shark Bay to always be a sanctuary for students in need.” Her gaze lingers on Belle, who’s gone very still. “It’s my duty to do everything in my power to uphold that mission.”
“We’re grateful,” Erik adds.
“You’re safe here,” Selena says, meeting all of our eyes.
There’s something in her tone that makes it sound less like reassurance and more like a fact she’s decreeing into existence.
“The network cannot touch you within these walls. Focus on your education. Keep your heads down. Remember that discretion is the cornerstone of Shark Bay’s reputation.
” Her pale eyes fix on each of us in turn.
“Continue to honor that tradition, and my protection is yours. Are we clear?”
There’s something in the way she phrases it. It’s not quite a threat, but not entirely innocent either. It serves as a reminder that sanctuary comes with conditions. Protection has a price.
“We understand,” I say firmly. “Thank you, Mrs. Harpsons.”
She nods, satisfied. “Excellent. Now, I’ll let you return to your studies. Remember, my door is always open should you need anything. Anything at all.” Her eyes linger on Belle for just a moment longer before she turns and continues her circuit of the dining hall.
We sit back in silence. The casual atmosphere from earlier has evaporated. It’s replaced by a tension I can’t quite name.
“She’s intense,” Max mutters.
“She’s protective,” I correct, though I’m not sure why I feel the need to defend her. Maybe because I want so desperately to believe that Selena Harpsons is exactly what she appears to be. A powerful ally who can finally give us the safety we’ve been chasing.
Belle says nothing. She’s staring at her coffee, her face pale, her hands trembling slightly. Whatever’s bothering her runs deeper than stress or exhaustion.
“Belle,” I say gently. “Seriously, what’s wrong?”
She looks up, and for just a moment, I see something in her eyes—fear, maybe, or realization, or both. But then it’s gone, replaced by that practiced mask of composure.
“Nothing,” she says. “Just… thinking about everything we still have to do. The evidence we need to gather. The people we need to expose. It’s overwhelming.”
“We’ll get there,” I assure her. “One step at a time. And we have Selena’s help now. That changes everything.”
Belle nods, but she doesn’t look convinced. She stands abruptly, grabbing her bag. “I should go. I have… homework. I’ll see you guys at dinner?”
“Yeah, of course,” I say, watching as she hurries out of the dining hall, Max following with an apologetic shrug.
Erik and I are left alone again. He reaches across the table, taking my hand.
“That was weird,” he says.
“She’s been through a lot.”
“So have we. But we’re not…” He trails off, searching for the right word.
“Paranoid?” I suggest.
“I was going to say jumpy, but sure.”
I think about Belle’s behavior. She’s constantly vigilant. The way she scanned the dining hall was weird. The fear in her eyes when Selena approached… It reminds me of how I felt during those first weeks after escaping my parents, when every shadow might hide a threat, when trust felt impossible.
“Give her time,” I say, as much to myself as to Erik. “We’re safe here. She’ll realize that eventually.”
“You really believe that?” Erik asks. “That we’re safe?”
I look around the dining hall—at the students studying and laughing, at the ancient portraits on the walls, at the autumn sunlight painting everything gold. I think about Selena’s promise. Her protection within these walls is finally allowing me a moment to breathe.
“I have to believe it,” I say quietly. “Because if we’re not safe here, then we’re not safe anywhere.”
Erik squeezes my hand, and we sit in comfortable silence, watching the world move around us. Normal. Safe. Everything we’ve been fighting for.
I just wish I could shake the feeling that Belle knows something I don’t.
***
Dinner that evening is a more formal affair. Shark Bay maintains certain traditions—including a mandatory sit-down dinner three nights a week where students are expected to dress properly and observe dining etiquette. It’s archaic, pretentious, exactly the kind of thing my mother would have loved.
But tonight, I don’t mind. There’s something soothing about the ritual, about knowing exactly what’s expected of me. I wear a simple black dress, Erik wears a blazer, and we join the stream of students filing into the main dining hall.
Belle and Max are already seated at one of the long tables, both looking slightly more composed than earlier.
Belle’s hair is down now, cascading in perfect waves over her shoulders, her makeup flawless.
Max sits close enough that their shoulders touch, a united front against whatever invisible enemy Belle’s been fighting.
“Feel better?” I ask as Erik and I slide into the seats across from them.
“Much,” Belle says, and this time her smile seems more genuine. “Sorry about earlier. I think I just needed some time to decompress.”
“No worries. We all have our moments.”
The dining hall fills rapidly, the volume of conversation rising to a pleasant hum. Servers in crisp white uniforms begin bringing out the first course—a butternut squash soup that smells divine. Whatever else Shark Bay might be, they don’t skimp on the food.
We fall into easy conversation, discussing classes and professors and the Halloween dance.
Erik mentions that his brother David called earlier.
He’s been checking in on us on and off. The investigation into the remaining network members is progressing slowly but steadily.
There have been no new threats, no suspicious activity.
It’s a relief not to be looking over our shoulders every five seconds.
The main course arrives—roasted chicken with herb potatoes and green beans—and we eat while conversation flows around us. Other students discuss upcoming exams, relationship drama, and plans for winter break. Normal concerns. Normal lives.
I catch Belle watching the room occasionally, her eyes tracking movements, cataloging faces.
Old habits die hard. But she’s eating, participating in conversation, and the tension in her shoulders has eased slightly.
Maybe she’s starting to accept what I already know—that we’re safe here. That Selena’s protection is real.
Dessert is a sinfully rich chocolate torte. I’m halfway through my slice when Selena appears at the head of the dining hall, commanding attention without saying a word. The room gradually quiets.
“Good evening, students,” she says, her voice carrying effortlessly.
“I won’t take much of your time. I just wanted to remind you all that Shark Bay University is a family.
We look out for one another. We protect one another.
And we maintain the standards of excellence and discretion that have defined this school since its founding. ”
Her eyes sweep the room, landing on our table for just a moment.
“Some of you come from difficult circumstances. Many have been exiled here by your own families. Others seek refuge from complicated situations at home. I want you all to know that you have found your sanctuary. As long as you respect our rules and maintain the integrity of our community, you will be safe within these walls. That is my promise to you.”
There’s something almost hypnotic about the way she speaks. She sounds measured, confident, and absolutely certain. I find myself nodding along. I want to believe in the protection she offers.
“Now, enjoy your dessert. And remember—we are stronger together than we could ever be apart.”
She leaves to polite applause, and conversation resumes its normal volume.
“She really does care,” I say softly. “About all of us.”
Erik squeezes my knee under the table. “Yeah. We’re lucky to be here.”
Belle is very quiet, her dessert untouched. But when I catch her eye, she manages a small smile and picks up her fork.
We’re going to be okay. All of us. Together.
For the first time in years, I let myself believe in the possibility of a future that doesn’t involve running or hiding or fighting.
I let myself believe in safety.
I let myself believe in Selena Harpsons.