Await The Moon

The Hunter's words, "little sun," struck Clara like a physical blow. It wasn't just a threat; it was recognition-a terrible confirmation that she was now inextricably tied to Moonsly's world. She wasn't running from a burglar; she was running from an enemy who knew who she was. Her fingers snatched the Silver Mark coin from the counter, the cold metal a stark anchor in her terror. Confrontation was impossible. That rifle meant business. The instinct that had made her a survivor in Oakhaven took over: hide the valuable, secure the shop, and run. She sprinted to a hidden recess beneath the till, a small, lead-lined cubby where she stored ancient, invaluable manuscripts, safe from water damage and thieves. She shoved the coin deep inside. The lead shielding would hopefully confuse any supernatural sensing the Hunter might possess. As she twisted the complex, silent lock, the Hunter outside spoke again, closer this time, her voice dripping with menacing patience. "The back door won't hold, little sun. Don't make this difficult." A sharp crack echoed as the woman clearly tested the strength of the wood. Clara scrambled toward the front door, slipping the heavy iron bar across the main lock. She didn't dare turn on the shop's external lights. The back alley was the quickest way out, but the Hunter was there. Her only option was the small, rickety fire escape from the upper floor flat where she lived above the shop. She flew up the creaking wooden stairs, two at a time, her golden hair streaming behind her. The sound of splintering wood erupted from below-the Hunter was breaking in. Clara reached her bedroom window, threw it open, and looked down at the icy metal rungs.