429- The Longest Walk
POV Thalyndra Moonclaw:
There had been another time, years ago, when my father was late to pick me up. I had gone to a museum on a school field trip. When the bus arrived, every parent was there waiting for their child — except mine. He showed up hours later, the car already packed with our bags, collecting me so we could leave the city in yet another sudden move. It was the last time I ever set foot in that school, and the assignment I had done at the museum — the one I was supposed to hand in on Monday — was never finished.
I could have stayed in the parking lot waiting for him, the way I had done back then. But I was no longer a child. I was a grown woman, and I was perfectly capable of going after my father and finding out on my own what was happening.
One thing was perfectly clear: something was wrong. I just didn't know what yet.
After a few blocks, I broke into a run. My phone had not made a sound — no replies to any of my messages. And with every second that passed, I grew more certain that something very, very bad had happened.
I crossed the street without looking, without even blinking, focused solely on getting home and finding out what could have made my father fail to keep a promise to me for the very first time in his life.
The seconds turned into minutes, and the kilometers separating me from home became the longest walk I had ever taken.
My heart did not slow, and my thoughts did not settle for a single moment.
I spotted my house from a distance and couldn't hold back the sigh of relief that escaped my parted lips.
Nothing looked wrong. The windows were open, letting the sunlight pour in, and the doors were closed, as always.
As I drew a little closer, I noticed my father's car in the garage.
I stopped for a second, my feet skidding on the pavement on the other side of the street. I squeezed my eyes shut and silently pleaded with the heavens for everything to be all right. When I opened them again, my steps were no longer as decisive and quick as before. The courage and hope I had clung to throughout the walk drained away as I approached the home I recognized as mine.
With trembling hands and stiff fingers, I pulled the key from the front pocket of my backpack. It took me far too long to unlock the door. I stared at the handle, drew a slow breath, and straightened my spine, preparing myself for whatever I might find.
I stepped inside abruptly. Silence.
"Dad? Mom?" I called, my voice tentative.
I closed the door behind me and moved further in, measuring each step with deliberate control.
No answer.
They must have gone out for a walk, Thalyndra, everything is fine. I tried to convince myself, repeating the thought like a mantra.
There was no sign of a struggle or a break-in in the living room, nor in the adjoining kitchen. I continued through the house toward my father's study. The door was closed, as were the other two, belonging to the residence's two suites. I cast a quick glance at the one leading to my own room before turning the handle and stepping into the study.
I went rigid. Completely still — unable to move, to breathe, or even to think.
The smell of blood in the room was strong and sharp, stinging my nose and turning my stomach.
I ran my tongue over my dry lips, moistening them.
I shook my head, refusing the reality that was closing in on me more with every passing second.
The space my father kept so organized — his sanctuary of dedication, love, and devotion — had been reduced to absolute chaos. The old, worn leather books, filled with words of wisdom, which had always been stacked on the shelves in alphabetical order, now lay scattered across the floor. The objects he had collected at auctions over the years, each one carrying a fragment of our history, were gone. The antique, ornate chandelier hanging from the ceiling swayed back and forth through the air, making me dizzy. The study had never been the brightest room in the house, especially with the windows always shut and the curtains drawn.
The room felt hollow without all those objects he had loved so deeply.
My steps faltered and my legs gave out. I fell to my knees on the hardwood floor, grinding my teeth against the pain of the impact. I crawled forward, pushing books aside with my hands, clearing a path.
The sharp scent of other wolves was in the air, mingled with that of my parents.
He had never allowed anyone into his study besides my mother and me. No visitors, no friends — no one he didn't trust completely.
I turned past one of the shelves, and then I saw it.
My body gave way and my chin hit the floor. The searing pain struck me, but it was nothing compared to the pain tearing through my core.
The pool of blood spread out in front of the mahogany desk. The dark liquid crept forward, seeping beneath the shelves and staining the yellowed pages of the books nearby.
The tears that had been welling in my eyes for the past few hours — while I had been trying to keep that spark of hope alive — finally broke free, streaming down my face and soaking my neck.
I let out a strangled cry. Of pain, of longing, of loss.
I grabbed the edge of a shelf and pushed myself upward, rising despite my failing legs.
There was still hope — maybe he was alive. I lifted my face and stared at the clock fixed to the wall. I exhaled sharply, releasing another strangled cry.
We used to communicate through codes, usually tied to numbers or times.
The clock showed a time that was not the current one. It hadn't changed — the hands were frozen above the numbers.
3:15.
I had memorized the message from the code he had recited to me one day:
"If you ever find the clock stopped at 3:15, know that the danger has come and time has run out. Always remember that strength and courage live within you. My last message to you is this: move forward with what is right, and protect what is precious. Do not let the darkness consume you. You are the light we need."
His voice rose in my mind, along with the images of that day and the conversation I had thought absurd — about something I had sworn would never happen.
My body hit the floor again, the impact driving into my knees.
"NO, NO, NO!" I screamed, shaking my head, my hair sticking to the wet skin of my cheeks. "Please, please!" I begged.