Chapter Sixty-One: A Luna’s Defiance
The halls of the infirmary were eerily quiet, filled with the heavy weight of sickness and despair. The scent of antiseptic and death clung to the air, thick and suffocating, but Charlie didn’t slow her steps. She couldn’t.
Every fiber of her being screamed at her to move faster.
She knew what she was doing would enrage Luther and Liam. They had made it clear that she wasn’t to go near the infected. They had all but locked her away to ensure her safety.
But they didn’t understand.
This wasn’t about her safety—it was about Lily.
A child.
Charlie’s heart clenched as she thought of the little girl, all alone in that cold, sterile hospital bed, waiting for the sickness to claim her.
No one should die alone. Especially not a child.
By the time she reached the isolation ward, her pulse was hammering in her ears. The hallway leading to Lily’s room was deserted except for two figures sitting outside the window that separated them from their dying daughter.
Lily’s parents.
Her mother had her face buried in her hands, her small frame trembling with silent sobs. Her father sat rigid, his hands curled into fists, his gaze locked on the glass as if he could will the barrier away and hold his child one last time.
Charlie slowed, her heart breaking for them.
How many parents had watched their children waste away in that very bed? How many families had been torn apart by a disease they couldn’t fight?
Too many.
And still, the twins had kept her away.
Charlie steeled herself as she stepped forward.
Lily’s father barely noticed her approach. He didn’t lift his head until she reached for the door handle.
“Luna?” he asked hoarsely, his eyes red and hollow with grief.
Charlie didn’t hesitate.
She pushed open the door and stepped inside.
The small hospital room was dimly lit, the only source of light coming from the monitoring equipment and the faint glow of the moon through the window.
And there, curled up in the center of the too-large bed, was Lily.
She was so small.
Too small.
Charlie’s throat tightened at the sight of her.
The little girl turned her head weakly, her fevered gaze locking onto Charlie’s. Her lips trembled, her tiny hands gripping the blanket pulled up to her chin.
She looked afraid.
Charlie’s chest ached at the sight.
“Do not fear, little one,” she whispered, keeping her voice soft, soothing. “I am here to sit with you.”
Lily’s wide, fearful eyes tracked her every movement as she pulled a chair close to the bed and lowered herself onto it.
A long silence stretched between them before Lily swallowed thickly, her voice barely more than a whisper.
“I will get you sick.”
Charlie’s heart cracked wide open.
Gently, carefully, she reached out, her hand hovering just over the child’s.
“I am not afraid,” she murmured.
Lily hesitated before shifting slightly, allowing Charlie to take her hand in her own.
Charlie nearly gasped at the feel of her.
She was so warm—too warm. And beneath the heat, her skin was delicate, fragile, like the slightest pressure might break her.
Worse still were the sores.
Angry, open wounds had begun to form along her small fingers, the skin cracked and peeling.
Charlie forced herself to swallow the lump in her throat as she fought back the tears burning behind her eyes.
She had known the sickness was merciless. She had seen the way it stole the strength from warriors, how it stripped proud wolves of their power. But seeing it on a child—seeing it on Lily—was more than she could bear.
A small sob nearly escaped her lips, but she buried it down deep.
Lily didn’t need her tears.
She needed her comfort.
“What is your name?” Charlie asked gently, needing to pull them both from the weight of reality, if only for a moment.
“Lily,” the girl whispered.
Charlie smiled, brushing a strand of damp hair from Lily’s forehead.
“Such a lovely name for such a lovely girl.”
Lily blinked slowly, her small fingers gripping Charlie’s tighter.
Charlie squeezed back, offering silent reassurance.
And for the first time since she entered the room, Lily’s lips curled into the faintest of smiles.
Charlie stayed by her bedside for what felt like hours.
She spoke to her in soft tones, telling her stories about the moon and the stars, about the strong wolves of their pack, about the beautiful flowers that grew outside the packhouse in the spring.
She let Lily talk, too—about her parents, about the dolls she used to play with, about the dreams she had of shifting for the first time, of running through the woods with the other pups.
Charlie held her hand through it all.
She forgot about the world outside this room.
Forgot about the fear, the sickness, the looming threat of what was to come.
None of it mattered.
Only Lily.
Only the warmth of her small hand, the sound of her soft voice, the fragile but undeniable strength in her young heart.
Charlie wasn’t sure how long she sat there, only that eventually, Lily’s words slowed, her body sagging into the mattress as sleep finally pulled her under.
Charlie brushed a final, gentle hand over her forehead, swallowing past the lump in her throat as she watched the slow rise and fall of her tiny chest.
And then—
A sharp knock against the glass shattered the fragile quiet.
Charlie turned, blinking as the world beyond the hospital room came rushing back into focus.
A crowd had gathered outside.
Dorian stood near the front, his face pale, his expression unreadable. Lily’s parents had moved closer to the glass, their hands pressed against it, tears streaking down their faces.
And then there were them.
Charlie’s breath caught at the sight of Liam and Luther standing at the center of it all.
Liam’s face was tight with fear, his blue eyes burning with panic as they locked onto hers. Luther stood rigid beside him, his jaw clenched, his hands curled into fists at his sides. He was radiating barely contained fury, his dark gaze stormy and unreadable.
Charlie met his stare head-on.
She knew what he was thinking.
She knew exactly what they would say, exactly how badly they would scold her.
She didn’t care.
She lifted her chin in defiance, her grip tightening around Lily’s small hand.
She would face them.
She would take whatever punishment came her way.
But she would not—would never—apologize for this.
And with that final, silent declaration, Charlie turned away from them, shutting out their rage, shutting out the fear, shutting out everything except the little girl beside her.
The only thing that mattered.
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