Page 21

The Big Move

M y fingers tremble around the USB drive as I slip it into a small velvet pouch and tuck it into my bra. The emails I discovered with Professor Austin's help echo through my mind, each one a new level of horror. Erik and I have gone over our plan a dozen times, refining every detail. The stakes couldn't be higher—he's been invited to the gathering, and they're planning to take him to Munich for "recalibration," a word that still makes me wake up screaming from nightmares I can't shake.

I check my phone again. The campus map shows me the cafeteria is at peak capacity—perfect for what we need to do. Erik and I crafted our plan carefully after I shared everything I found in my father's emails. The irony isn't lost on me—I've spent my whole life learning to manipulate others, and now I have to use that training to protect someone I care about.

The hallway outside my dorm stretches before me like a gauntlet. Belle could be anywhere. Her father and mine are in this together, orchestrating our movements like pieces on a chessboard. My stomach twists at the thought of how close I came to trusting her, how easily I could've fallen into their trap.

"Time to move," I whisper to myself, squaring my shoulders. The walk to the cafeteria feels endless, each step weighted with the knowledge that this might be our last chance.

When I arrive, the noise hits me like a physical force—the clatter of silverware, dozens of overlapping conversations, the scrape of chairs against the floor. My eyes scan the crowd until they land on Erik. He's sitting at a table in the center of the room, exactly as planned. His eyes find mine immediately, and something passes between us—understanding, fear, determination.

I start walking toward him, feeling the weight of countless stares on my back. My heel catches on a crack in the floor, sending me stumbling slightly. It's not part of the plan, but I'll use it—every detail matters in a performance like this.

I stop at his table, letting every eye in the room follow me. Erik looks up, his storm-gray eyes meeting mine briefly in silent confirmation before his expression hardens into the mask we've practiced.

"You wanted to talk?" he asks, voice cool but loud enough to catch the attention of nearby tables. "Make it quick. I have class."

"Don't act like you don't know why I'm here," I spit out, projecting my voice just enough to draw more attention without seeming theatrical. "I saw the texts, Erik. Every single one of them."

His brow furrows in perfectly feigned confusion. "What the hell are you talking about?"

I slam my hands on the table, making his water glass rattle. "The ones between you and that bitch! Did you think I wouldn't find out? That I'm too stupid to see when I'm being played?"

The cafeteria quiets as heads turn toward us. From the corner of my eye, I spot Belle at her usual table, watching with that perfect blend of shock and delight that confirms she's buying our show. She's playing right into our hands, not realizing she's being played herself.

Erik stands slowly, towering over me. His eyes flash with a momentary glint—a silent reminder that we're in this together—before his expression hardens. "You're delusional. There's nothing between me and her."

"Then why were you in her room last night?" The lie rolls off my tongue easily, exactly as we rehearsed. "Why is she wearing your fucking sweatshirt today?"

His face twists into practiced anger, the performance so convincing that despite knowing it's an act, I feel a chill run down my spine.

"Maybe because you're too fucked up for anyone to deal with!" he shouts back, his voice echoing across the suddenly silent cafeteria. "You push away anyone who tries to get close, then act surprised when they give up!"

There's a collective intake of breath from our audience. I see phones coming out, recording our meltdown. Perfect.

"I trusted you," I hiss, letting tears well in my eyes. My voice breaks just enough to seem genuine. "I told you things I've never told anyone else."

"Yeah, well, maybe that was your first mistake," he says, and the hollow laugh that follows sends a chill down my spine. He's good at this—too good. "I'm done trying to save you, Luna. You don't want to be saved. You just want to drag everyone down with you."

I reach out and slap him across the face, the sound cracking through the silent room like a gunshot. His head snaps to the side with the impact, exactly as we practiced in the empty classroom the night before. He takes the hit perfectly, his shocked expression selling the moment to our audience.

"Fuck you," I whisper, forcing more tears to my eyes even as I send him a silent apology. "I was starting to think you were different."

"And I was starting to think you were worth the trouble," he shoots back, rubbing his cheek with practiced indignation. "Guess we were both wrong."

I turn on my heel, forcing my shoulders to shake slightly as if I'm holding back sobs. The crowd parts as I move through it, whispers following in my wake. Just before I reach the door, I risk one last glance back. Erik has sunk into his chair, head in his hands, executing the final move of our choreographed performance with perfect precision.

Belle is already moving toward him, a predatory smile on her lips. I exit before I can see more, my heart pounding with the knowledge that our plan is working exactly as we designed it. She's taking the bait, just as we predicted she would.

Outside, I allow myself a moment to lean against the wall, breathing deeply. Phase one is complete. I follow our predetermined path to the meeting point, counting down the minutes until I can see Erik again and confirm that everything went according to plan.

Professor Austin's already in his office when I arrive. The room is dim, lit only by his computer screen and a small desk lamp. I slip inside, making sure no one sees me enter. Erik follows five minutes later, as we arranged.

"You two are either excellent actors or genuinely angry at each other," Professor Austin says, not looking up from his screen. "It's all over social media already."

"That was the point," Erik says, moving to stand beside me, close but not touching. "Did you get it?"

Professor Austin reaches into his desk drawer and pulls out a small box. "Burner phone, as requested. Untraceable, paid for with cash at a convenience store fifty miles from the port."

"Thank you," Erik says. "For everything."

Professor Austin nods once. "My personal days have been approved. I leave for 'New Hampshire' in one hour." The emphasis on the location makes it clear that's not his real destination. "Whatever message you plan on sending to your brother, do it quickly. And be sure to tell him I'm coming."

I clutch the burner phone, its weight oddly comforting. "We will."

As we turn to leave, Professor Austin speaks again. "Luna." When I look back, his expression is solemn. "Be careful. These people… they don't play by normal rules."

A bitter laugh escapes me. "I know. I was raised by them."

We slip out separately, Erik first, then me five minutes later. As I walk across the darkening campus, I feel eyes on me, though I can't pinpoint their source. The sensation is familiar—I've been watched my whole life, tracked like prey by predators who called themselves family.

As planned, Erik joins me in the girls’ bathroom twenty minutes later, making sure no one saw him. We sit on the floor, backs against the wall, as steam from the showers rises around us and the sound of running water provides white noise. I remove the burner phone from its box and power it up.

"Did you memorize the number?" I ask, keeping my voice low.

Erik nods. "I have to warn you. David can be… intense. He's very protective."

"Good," I say, handing him the phone. "We need intense right now."

Erik's fingers hesitate over the keypad. "Once we do this, there's no going back. David won't stop until he has all the evidence and all the players. Are you ready for what that means?"

The question hangs between us, heavy with implication. Am I ready for my parents to face justice? For the world to know the truth about the parties, the manipulation, the entire network of power and corruption they've built? For my own role in all of it to be exposed?

"No," I admit. "But I'm less ready for them to take you to Munich."

He holds my gaze for a long moment, then dials. The phone rings three times before a deep voice answers.

"Who is this?"

"It's me," Erik says, voice steady despite the tension radiating from him. "I need your help, D."

There's a pause, then: "This isn't your number."

"I know. I can't use mine. I'm in trouble, serious trouble."

Another pause. "What kind of trouble?"

Erik looks at me, and I nod in encouragement. "The kind that involves powerful people, blackmail, and a place called Munich. I need your prosecutor brain and your big brother instincts, in that order."

I can almost hear the calculations happening on the other end of the line. "Are you safe right now?"

"For the moment." Erik's eyes never leave mine. "But I don't know how long that will last. They're watching us."

"Where are you?"

"Shark Bay University. I can't leave without being noticed."

"Who's 'us'?" David asks, cutting to the heart of it.

Erik hesitates, then puts the phone on speaker. "My friend Luna. She's the one who discovered everything. Her parents are at the center of it."

"Luna Queen?" David asks, and the recognition in his voice makes my blood run cold.

"You know who I am?" I whisper.

"I know your family," he says, voice hardening. "Everyone in my office does. We've been trying to build a case against your father for years, but witnesses keep disappearing or recanting."

"I have evidence," I say, leaning closer to the phone. "Emails, photos, documents—enough to bring them down for good."

"How did you get these?"

I glance at Erik, who gives me a slight nod. "Let's just say I have access to their private communications. I can prove they're operating a blackmail ring that targets politicians, judges, CEOs—anyone with influence. They organize parties and record said people in compromising situations, then use the footage for leverage."

There's a long silence on the other end. "And you're willing to testify to this?"

"Yes," I say, ignoring the fear that claws at my throat. "But we need to move fast. They know I'm on to them, and they're planning to take Erik somewhere called Munich for 'recalibration.'"

"That doesn't sound good," David says, voice grim.

"It's not," I confirm. "Trust me."

"We need you to meet with someone," Erik says. "Professor Peter Austin. He'll give you the USB with the evidence."

I listen as David and Erik confirm the details of the exchange, the words washing over me. There are no more doubts, no hesitations. Erik put his faith in me, and now we're both putting our faith in his brother.

"David… thank you," Erik says finally. "I know this is a lot to ask?—"

"You're my brother," David replies, voice softening. "Of course I'll help. Just keep your head down and stay safe until the handoff. I will make sure to keep it all quiet until you guys are safe. But don't thank me yet, little brother. This is just the beginning."

As we end the call, Erik's hand finds mine, our fingers intertwining. The simple contact centers me and anchors me to this moment of fragile hope.

"We're really doing this," he murmurs, and I'm not sure if it's a question or a statement.

"We are," I confirm. "Are you scared?"

A small smile touches his lips. "Terrified. You?"

"Beyond terrified," I admit. "But also…"

"What?"

I search for the word, surprised when I find it. "Free. For the first time, I feel like maybe there's a way out."

His thumb traces circles on my palm, the touch sending warmth through me. "There is a way out, Luna. I promise."

We stay there on the bathroom floor until the water runs cold, planning our next steps and mapping our escape route. When we finally part ways, slipping through the connecting bathroom, I feel stronger than I have in years. We have a plan. We have help. We have each other.

Maybe that will be enough.