Page 6 of Mourning Wings (Whitmore Legacy #1)

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VALERIA

18 YEARS OLD

T he day is finally here, and I’m not sure how to feel.

I stand in front of the small, cracked mirror that’s been my only companion in this place, staring at the face that hasn’t changed much in the past few years. Maybe a little older, a little sharper. I’m eighteen today.

I’m free.

I grab my old, worn bag from under the bed and start packing what little I have: a few clothes, toiletries, a book I’ve read a hundred times. It’s crazy how little you accumulate when nothing really belongs to you.

The room is silent, save for the soft ticking of the clock on the wall. Isabel is scribbling something in her journal. The other girls are out in the common area, probably waiting for me. I exhale slowly, the breath catching in my chest.

I stand by the door, my hand resting on the worn wooden frame as I look at my best friend. My heart feels heavy, like it’s being pulled in two directions.

“ I don’t want to leave you, Isa ,” I say, my voice trembling. “ You’ve been my rock through everything. How can I just walk out of here alone?”

Isabel gives me a small, reassuring smile, but I can see the pain she’s trying to hide. “ Val , you’ve been waiting for this moment for so long. You’ve counted down every day until you could leave and find Camila . You can’t put that on hold because of me.”

“ But you won’t turn eighteen for another few months,” I argue, more desperate than I intended. “ I should stay. We should leave together.”

Isabel shakes her head. “ No , you need to go now. The sooner you start, the sooner you’ll find her. You can’t waste any more time. I’ll be fine, I promise.”

Tears well in my eyes. “ It just feels wrong.”

She stands up and crosses the room, wrapping her arms around me in a tight hug. “ I know, but this is what you need to do. For Camila . For yourself. I’ll be right behind you when it’s my turn, okay?”

I nod, trying to hold back tears. “ Okay .”

We pull apart, and I can see the resolve in her eyes. It gives me strength, even though my heart aches at the thought of leaving her behind. I know she’s right. I have to go, but it doesn’t make it any easier.

“ I’ll call you,” I promise. “ Every day.”

Isabel laughs. “ You better. And Val ...be careful out there. You know how dangerous it can be.”

I swallow the lump in my throat. “ I will.”

“ Go on, then. I’ll join you and the others as soon as I’m done writing.”

Before stepping out of the room, there’s a soft knock on the door before it creaks open. Sister Maria pokes her head in, her kind eyes crinkling at the corners as she smiles. “ Valeria , dear, we have a little something for you in the common room.”

I force a smile. “ I’ll be there in a minute,” I reply. She nods and closes the door behind her.

The idea of sitting through some awkward, half-hearted celebration makes my stomach twist. They make such a fuss about celebrating our eighteenth birthday, like it’s a new era, like we’re being reborn. The irony isn’t lost on me.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, steadying myself. I don’t want to be ungrateful. The sisters here have been kind, in their own way, especially given that no one adopted me. I don’t know whether to feel disappointed or relieved, honestly. I’ve lived here for what feels like a lifetime—years of mundane, monotonous existence, just counting down the days until I could finally leave. The thought of freedom always kept me going, a distant light at the end of this long, dark tunnel. Though , now that it’s here, I’m not sure what to do with it.

As I head toward the common area, I can’t help but think of Camila . It’s funny— I used to see butterflies all the time. They’d flutter around the garden in the summer like little pieces of the sun. But since she left, it’s as if the butterflies disappeared too.

Butterflies are supposed to symbolize rebirth. But what happens when they’re gone?

I dispel those thoughts when I enter the room, decorated with streamers and balloons, all in shades of pink and purple. A small cake sits on the table, the frosting a bright, cheerful yellow. The other girls are gathered around, smiling and chatting, but their eyes keep flicking to me. Sister Maria hands me a small box wrapped in plain paper, her smile a little too hopeful.

“ Happy Birthday , Valeria ,” she says, pressing the gift into my hands.

“ Thank you,” I say softly, trying to sound sincere. I peel back the wrapper, revealing a small, delicate butterfly pin. I swallow hard, my throat tightening as I trace the shape with my fingers.

“ It’s beautiful.” It’s the first gift I’ve ever received that feels like it means something—but it’s also a reminder of everything I’ve lost.

We eat cake, and I force myself to participate, to smile and laugh. The frosting is too sweet, so I push the plate away after a few bites. The Sisters chatter on about the future, about how this is the start of a new life, a new chapter, but all I can think about is getting out of here, of leaving Gloomwood behind and never looking back.

Once the celebration is over, I grab my bag and sling it over my shoulder. Everyone gathers at the front door to see me off with hugs and well wishes. I nod and smile, feeling like I’m playing a part in a play I didn’t want to be cast in.

“ Take care of yourself, Valeria ,” Isabel says, her arms wrapping around me.

“ I will,” I say, squeezing her back. I give her one last smile before I step out into the cool afternoon air.

The gate clicks shut behind me, and I feel a mix of emotions—relief, fear, anticipation. I stand there for a moment, glimpsing at the world beyond the orphanage walls. It’s strange how the sky seems a little brighter, the air a little fresher.

I take a deep breath, adjusting the strap of my bag, and start walking. I don’t look back, not once. I have a new life to find, and with it, Camila . She’s out there somewhere, and now that I’m free, I’ll find her.

And maybe, just maybe, I’ll find the butterflies again too.

A few months later

I hear a knock on the door, a soft but eager rhythm that could only belong to Isabel . My heart races as I rush to open it—and there stands my best friend on the other side of the threshold.

“ Valeria ,” she says, stepping into my small apartment. The space already feels different with her in it, warmer somehow, despite its cramped quarters.

Isabel looks around, taking in the tiny living room that doubles as a kitchen, the lone mattress on the floor that serves as my bed. It’s not much, but it’s all I’ve got, and now, it’s ours. I can see the questions in her eyes, the unspoken concerns about how we’re going to make this work.

“ I can’t believe I’m finally here,” she murmurs.

Isabel and I haven’t seen each other in seven months. We kept in touch as best as we could, but it wasn’t the same. Isabel was stuck at the orphanage, waiting for the day she’d turn eighteen so she could join me. And I was here, in this small apartment, trying to figure out how to survive.

On her birthday, Isabel packed up what little she had and made her way to Ebonridge . That was two days ago.

I squeeze her hand. “ We’ll figure it out, like we always do.”

After Isabel settles in, we decide to treat ourselves to some takeout—our first meal together in months. Sitting on the two bean bags that create our makeshift couch in the tiny living room, I finally tell her everything about my search for Camila .

After weeks of digging through every corner of the internet, I finally got in touch with someone who might have answers. Isabel’s eyes widen when I mention that I had to go into the dark web to find them.

“ Valeria , are you serious?” Isabel’s shock is palpable.

I nod. “ I didn’t have a choice. I needed to dig deeper to get more information. Plus , the guy I spoke to was in an anonymous forum about mysterious disappearances of women in Ebonridge .”

I tell her about the guy’s cryptic message, how he mentioned a wealthy family named the Whitmores . He described them as predators who look for young women, pretending to be saviors. He wouldn’t say much more, only that he could connect me with someone who might help.

Days passed before I heard from anyone, and during that time, I started looking into the Whitmores . As soon as I saw their photo in an article, I recognized them—they were the couple who took Camila away. They’re older now, but they still have that same allure.

Isabel listens intently, her brow furrowed as I describe what I found.

“ Yesterday , I got a message from someone named Rachel . She said she was part of a group that helps women, and when I brought up the Whitmores , she nearly flipped. They’ve been investigating the family because of a series of murders around their estate. That’s when I started thinking—maybe Camila’s disappearance wasn’t just a disappearance. Maybe it was a murder.”

Isabel gasps. “ Do you really think they killed her?”

I shrug. “ Who knows. But if one thing’s clear, Ebonridge isn’t what it seems. It has its problems, sure, nothing out of the ordinary, but there’s something darker here. Everyone has a secret, and the more you dig, the more you realize how twisted it all really is.”

My best friend shudders at my words. “ So , what did Rachel say?”

“ I gave her all the information I had on Camila , hoping she could help, but—” Just as I’m explaining this to Isabel , my phone buzzes. Speak of the devil. It’s a message from Rachel . My heart pounds as I read it out loud.

“ Camila was adopted by the Whitmores ,” I say, my voice shaking. “ But she disappeared right before she turned nineteen. They pronounced her dead after they supposedly found her body on the property, but there’s no trace of her death anywhere. The Whitmores concealed everything—they even had her body cremated. No autopsy. They didn’t even suggest foul play.”

The world tilts beneath my feet, and I’m free-falling. I can’t get a full breath in no matter how hard I try. Camila … dead ? My brain can’t wrap around the words. It’s as if they’re not real, as if this is some cruel joke that will unravel at any moment. My fingers tremble as I reread Rachel’s message, the words blurring in front of my eyes.

My hands are shaking so much, I can barely control them. My pulse roars in my ears. She’s gone . Camila’s gone. I press my hand to my mouth, feeling bile rise in my throat.

“ No ,” I whisper.

I clutch at my chest, as if I can stop the ache, but it doesn’t work.

I feel a hand on my back, and I flinch at first. Then , I hear Isabel’s voice, “ Val , I’m so sorry.”

My breath hitches as a sob escapes my throat. I squeeze my eyes shut, pressing the heels of my hands into them, but it doesn’t stop the flood.

I can’t even respond; the tears are coming too hard. My entire body trembles, and I feel Isabel sit next to me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. She pulls me in close, and I collapse into her, burying my face in her shirt.

“ It doesn’t make any sense,” I choke out.

“ I know,” Isabel agrees. “ Something’s off.”

I sniff and wipe my face with the back of my hand.

“ I’m going to find out what really happened. I’m going to investigate it myself.” My hands clutch the phone tighter, as if somehow that will keep the last few pieces of my world together.

Isabel doesn’t hesitate. “ I’m with you, Val . Whatever it takes.”