Chapter 3

I put on Azura's old black dress because I don't have any black clothes of my own. Black was always her choice, reflecting her rebellious grunge style. The dress is a vintage 1950s pencil design that used to fit her perfectly and accentuate her curves. It's a bit snug on me and falls a few inches below my knees, but it still looks good.

My mom, from the doorway, smiles at me and suggests, "She'd want you to wear it with her favorite shoes."

I glance at the black ballet flats on my feet and reply, "Yeah, she'd love to see me trip and fall at her own funeral."

My mom chuckles, but there's a strange tension in her expression. I've seen that look on my parents' faces too often, and I fear they'll bury themselves in work before Azura's coffin is even lowered into the ground. I hope they don't make me go along with them. If I'm lucky, they'll leave me at the dock to keep watch. The place already has a manager who could use extra help. I'd gladly quit my current job if it means staying.

Mom touches my arm and asks, "Are you alright?"

I nod, even though she probably senses that my actions are mere routine. I want to leave this town, but I also don't want to depart.

Honestly, I'm not sure how I feel anymore – isolated, confused, and not in denial, despite what others believe. I know my sister, and I'm certain she wouldn't have left me. We always confided in each other, so she would have shared any real issues with me.

Yet, a nagging doubt persists, jabbing at me like a splinter. It reminds me of how distant Azura had become in the months leading up to her death. Over the past year, Ahren rarely visited our house and became very protective of his personal space, making it difficult for me to communicate with him.

Why didn't she tell me? I used to think we could discuss anything, but this seems to be the one topic we couldn't address. Who was the man in her room, and what did he want? For him to return more than once, it must have been significant.

The first time I encountered him, he was a complete stranger. I had only witnessed the aftermath of his destruction in Azura's room. She was on her knees, in tears, but she never explained why someone had broken into our house and stolen her belongings.

Or perhaps, I've been hallucinating. Maybe Azura had wrecked her own room. Perhaps I hadn't seen the man from that night at all. I had just awoken from a bizarre dream, so maybe that was part of it. Everyone seems to accept it as the truth, as if I've fabricated this story to cope. Azura had truly been killed, or is this merely a way to avoid a harsher reality? I saw a man in her room. Was he real? Is this her necklace?

"Alora!"

My mom's voice calls me from downstairs. I hadn't even heard her leave.

Before I exit, I take a final look at myself in the mirror and pause when something catches my eye. A mark – no, a bruise – on my cheekbone. I observe it with curiosity, unsure of its origin. "Alora!"

"Just a sec!" For the first time in weeks, my voice reverberates through the house. I hastily apply some makeup to conceal the bruise and head downstairs.

When I lock the front door, my parents are already seated in the car.

"You can't even be on time for your own sister's funeral," my dad remarks with a sigh, apologizing when my mom taps his shoulder. I'm sure her presence means more to her than to me at this point.

I neglect to fasten my seatbelt. At this stage, I'd prefer to contemplate the possibility of a car accident and a broken neck over enduring another day without Azura.

My hands still tremble from placing a rose on Azura's grave. My parents had wanted an open casket, but we couldn't go through with it due to the rope burns on her skin. I didn't inquire further, but the mortician advised us to keep the coffin closed.

I can't even make out the words the priest is saying. Why are we having a funeral for her when they haven't even found her killer? Don't they need to locate her body as evidence?

In the blink of an eye, I'm overwhelmed by a wave of nausea. When did my sister become a lifeless body? Is it wrong for me to wish she could triumph, or should I simply let it go?

"I'm sorry for what happened." An elderly woman clasps my hand, and I recognize her as one of the lunch ladies from our high school. "It's a terrible tragedy, her passing," she offers.

Nearly the entire town has turned out for the funeral. It's not surprising, given that Azura was dearly loved by everyone here. In this small town, she was like a perpetual flame. Their condolences are well-intentioned, but the awkward pauses and their way of discussing her death make them seem less comforting.

"She was too young to act like this."

"Her passing is a great loss to all of us."

"Stay strong. It must be incredibly difficult for you right now."

"You shouldn't blame yourselves."

I exchange handshakes with numerous people, but I can't manage to utter a word. My tongue feels as if it belongs to a viper, and I'm teetering on the edge of snapping at everyone.

"It was a beautiful service." My attention is drawn back to Detective Dristan, who is shaking my father's hand and giving my mom a quick hug. There's something about him that seems off.

"We appreciate your presence," my mom says as she dabs her eyes with a tissue. She gives my hand a reassuring squeeze and offers a smile my way.

I respond with a firm nod but can't bring myself to meet his gaze. He's just as convinced as everyone else that my sister took her own life and betrayed us. He's no different from all these hypocrites who speak kindly of her in public but then make comments like "I'm glad my child is smarter" or "What a foolish girl" when they're at home or with friends.

"Alora?" My dad clears his throat, struggling to maintain an even tone, aware that I likely didn't grasp what was said.

Detective Dristan chuckles and says, "It's alright, Mr. Nightglow." I glance at him, and he repeats, "I was hoping we could talk," several times.

I stay silent as I follow him away from my parents. Has he discovered something?

When he leans against one of the gravestones, we're a few rows away from Azura's fresh grave. I can see his lips moving as he speaks, but all I can think about is someone sitting on Azura's gravestone, treating it like a cafe chair.

He halts when he notices the expression on my face and says, "I'm sorry," his surprise evident.

I don't say a word; I just watch him straighten up. He shifts uneasily when my silence persists, but I can't find my voice. Speaking now might cause me to unravel.

"Are you back in school?" When he inquires, I nod, though I'm not entirely sure why it matters.

"No one's bothering you, right?" I shake my head, and he chuckles. "You're much quieter than the last time I saw you."

Why is he laughing?

"I'm sorry," I bite my lip, and my subdued tone conceals my anger.

"You don't need to be. It's understandable," he gestures with open arms, "I know you feel alone right now, Alora. I've heard that you and Azura were very close. Do you have any other friends at school?"

As my eyes begin to well up, I blink to clear them. He's trying to help, but all I can think about is my overwhelming solitude. I may have a few acquaintances at the dance studio, but we don't spend time together outside of practice. There's my dance partner, but aside from dancing, we don't share much in common. Ahren is my only friend, and he was friends with Azura, so he became my friend by default. Why did I need other friends when I had Azura and Ahren in the same grade?

"Yeah," I lie, "Yeah, I do."

He simply gazes at me, and I'm overwhelmed by a profound sense of loss. It's a strange and unfamiliar feeling compared to my usual emotions. It's empty and strange, like something invisible and intangible, something I can't see, smell, or even feel. After I glance at him, I notice a boy standing beside him. Dristan turns his head and briefly closes his eyes.

"I asked you to stay..."

Dristan comes to a halt and turns his attention to both of us. The boy's gaze feels intense, causing me to clutch the top of a headstone briefly for support before pulling my hand away. Why is he staring at me like that? His eyes appear dark and filled with sadness.

For a brief, irrational moment, I consider whether the numbness enveloping me due to grief might somehow be linked to his sorrow. It doesn't make any sense...

Dristan places a hand on the younger boy's shoulder and introduces him, saying, "This is Lucien." The boy, with his disheveled black hair and penetrating eyes, lost someone close to him, according to what your parents told me. I thought maybe you two could talk."

Lucien's eyes narrow as he regards me intently. His face reflects determination, and he stands firm and silent, his shoulders squared, giving the impression that he never backs down. However, the wariness in his eyes suggests otherwise.

For a few moments, I can't tear my gaze away from him. The longer we lock eyes, the lighter my head feels. Even though I'm sweltering, the hairs on the back of my neck prickle, and I shudder involuntarily. A lump forms in my throat, almost reaching the tip of my tongue before I swallow it down.

I glance away briefly and clear my throat. "I don't have anything to say to anyone. My sister didn't take her own life."

"I understand—" Dristan starts to speak, but Lucien takes a step toward me, cutting him off.

I can't quite grasp why he's smiling with his lips sealed that way. He seems like the type of person who would have a wide, toothy grin, but this peculiar smile makes my cheeks flush. His voice, on the other hand, resonates with me like music I'm hearing for the first time.

"Neither did my mother," he says before glancing at my parents, who are in conversation with Ahren and his mother. Then, he extends his hand toward me and smiles once more. "I'm Lucien Lucien Vaisanen."

I divert my gaze from the captivating color of his eyes and accept his hand. "Alora Nightglow," I say.

Dristan briefly touches my shoulder, then withdraws and addresses Lucien with a tight smile. "I'll leave you two to it."

"Thank you for coming," I nod and shake his hand, expressing my gratitude.

He smiles at me and replies, "Of course. If any new developments arise in the case, I'll keep you informed."

Shortly afterward, he departs, leaving me facing Lucien. Surprisingly, he's already focused on me. I swiftly turn away, leading him away from where people are patting soil onto Azura's freshly buried coffin.

"I'm sorry about your mother," I offer, not quite sure what to say, and the words simply spill out.

"I'm sorry for your sister," he responds with a nod. I manage to muster a stiff smile as I continue walking alongside him through the cemetery. "I'm sure you're tired of hearing that," he adds with a laugh, casting a glance my way.

I shrug. "They're just words that don't mean much to me anymore. But it's nice that people say them. In some ways, I believe they mean it."

"Dristan mentioned you go to Fisher's Point High," he remarks as we stroll along the road bordered by gravestones.

I nod. "You?"

"Yeah."

I look up at him, trying to think of something else to say, and he meets my gaze directly. My heart skips a beat, and I hurriedly avert my eyes, clasping my hands tightly behind my back, my nails digging into my wrist.

Is this Dristan's way of distracting me from Azura's death? Offering me a handsome boy as a distraction? Just like that, everything is fine with the world.

"What's so funny?" I recall that I'd laughed.

"Nothing. What do you know about Detective Dristan?"

"He's family," he replies immediately, though it sounds like he's said it before. I look at him, and he meets my gaze with such intensity that I feel compelled to look down at my feet again. Once more.

I begin to walk back towards Azura's grave, and Lucien has no trouble keeping pace with me. I observe the people at the cemetery tossing dirt into the pit. As I inhale deeply, my throat constricts, and my heart, along with the world, seems to come to a standstill.

When Lucien standing beside me clears his throat, I look up just in time to see him scratch his chest. He appears as if he'd rather be elsewhere, and I wonder why Dristan paired us up. Maybe Lucien is performing community service, and Dristan assigned him to us as part of it.

"I'm sorry for what happened..."

"I think those words truly carry meaning only after a loss like that," he responds softly, echoing our earlier conversation.

"Perhaps," I reply, glancing over my shoulder at the approaching group of people. "But I believe some folks say it out of empathy, not sympathy. They can't fathom what it's like to be in such a situation. Thankfully, they keep their thoughts to themselves."

"Wow, that was quite insightful," he remarks with a raised eyebrow. "Don't hold back; that's probably the most you've said to me all at once."

"I'm not sure if I should be offended by your surprise," I tease, letting out a laugh.

He responds with a broad smile, drawing me in with his light-heartedness. His happiness radiates from his big, joyful smile, a sight I haven't seen in weeks. When he gazes down at me with that wide, cheerful grin and those honey-hazel eyes, I find it hard to breathe. The hurt and sadness seem to fade, replaced by a sense of well-being in my mind, stomach, and heart.

He begins to reply, but I hear my name called. My mom and Ahren are approaching us.

I attempt to answer, but a sudden piercing howl interrupts me—an unmistakable wolf's cry. I halt in my tracks, my heart pounding with fear, yet a determined urge to locate the source takes over.

"It's alright," he reassures me, placing his hand on my back just above my tailbone and gently urging me forward. "They don't really like people."

"That's exactly what worries me," I mutter as I scan the graveyard. Once more, Lucien's laughter fills the air, provoking an irritated look from me. I retort, "If you're not concerned, why don't you go scare it away?"

"Why should I confront a wolf?" he questions with a smile. "It's been nice...talking to you, Alora," he adds as he starts walking away, and my cheeks flush bright red.

I nod in response and find my gaze drifting to his lips. When he whispers my name, an unfamiliar warmth washes over me. He withdraws his hand from mine and proceeds toward the parking area.

"Alora." My mother holds out a box. The wood is unfinished, adorned with an unusual symbol resembling a circle with two crescents flanking it. "This is from Azura. I was in the car when her will was read, but I didn't realize it until now."

"Azura had a will?" I inquire, my voice slow and hesitant.

"Well, it seems she did," my mother replies with a snort.

I take the box from her and start to open it while turning around. Inside, I find bags of powdered leaves, spices, and crystals. Body chains, anklets, and numerous silver bracelets, akin to the ones both Azura and I wore, are all intertwined. On the lid, there's a carving in elaborate calligraphy that reads: "To Moon-Touchers."

I spin around to embrace my mother. As we stand amid the gravestones, her fingers run through my hair. She speaks to me in hushed tones, but I can't hear her words because I'm peering over her shoulder, fixated on the wolf.

It's a sizable creature, brown in hue, with eyes mirroring the color of pine trees. Emeralds couldn't match the intensity of that green.