Episode 4

The morning sunlight spilled through Luna’s curtains, soft and golden. For a moment, she almost felt at peace—until she noticed the curtains weren’t fully shut again. A gap remained, thin but deliberate, like an eye left half open.

Her pulse quickened. She was certain she’d closed them last night.

Maybe the wind… she told herself, but the excuse felt hollow.

When she descended the stairs, Aunt Marjorie was in her armchair with knitting needles clinking softly. Rick was at the dining table, papers spread before him, though his eyes weren’t on the page—they followed Luna the moment she entered the room.

“You’re up late,” he said simply.

Luna glanced at the clock. It was barely eight. “I didn’t think that was late.”

Rick’s mouth curved slightly, but it wasn’t a smile. “We keep a routine here. It’s better that way.”

Before Luna could respond, Marjorie waved a hand. “Oh, don’t fuss at her. She’s settling in.”

Rick didn’t look away from Luna. “Still. Some rules make life easier.”

The words weren’t harsh, but there was an unspoken weight beneath them, as though the house itself demanded obedience.

Later that afternoon, Luna wandered into town on her own. She wanted to breathe, to feel normal again. The streets were quiet, the bakery warm with the smell of bread and sugar. For the first time in days, she felt like herself.

At the counter, she met a boy about her age—dark-haired, with an easy smile. He introduced himself as Ethan, the baker’s son. They talked briefly, his lightness a welcome contrast to the heaviness of Hayes House. He laughed easily, and Luna found herself laughing too.

But when she returned home, Rick was waiting by the porch.

“You were gone a while,” he said, his voice low.

Luna swallowed. “I… went to the bakery.”

His eyes narrowed. “Alone?”

“Yes. I needed air.”

Rick stepped closer, his shadow falling over her. “I don’t like the idea of you wandering around town by yourself. People stare. They don’t understand you like I do.”

“I’m fine,” Luna said, forcing a steady tone.

Rick’s jaw tightened. For a long moment, he said nothing. Then his voice softened, almost gentle. “I just don’t want you getting hurt.”

The words should have been kind, but the way he said them sounded more like a warning.

That night, Luna lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. She thought of Ethan’s smile, the simple joy of talking to someone who saw her as normal. But alongside that memory came Rick’s eyes—watchful, possessive, unrelenting.

She turned onto her side, pulling the blanket tighter.

From the hallway came the faintest sound.

A creak.

A pause.

Then another creak, closer this time.

Her throat tightened. She reached for her lamp, but before she could turn it on, the footsteps stopped—right outside her door.

Luna froze, every muscle tense.

The silence stretched, unbearable. Then, soft as breath, came the whisper through the wood:

“You don’t need anyone else.”

Her blood ran cold. She didn’t answer. She couldn’t.

The footsteps retreated, slow and deliberate.

Luna buried her face in her pillow, tears burning her eyes. She wanted to scream, but she knew no one would hear her. Not here. Not with him always watching.

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