The Abandoned Luna's Journey to Power (by Emily Reed) novel Chapter 181

Chapter 181 Are You Hungry?

Cindy’s POV:

Night settled deep and dark, and the usual noise of Liberty City turned into a restless undertow.

But in the bedroom at No. 13, Pear Blossom Street, time seemed to stop.

Astra woke up.

This time, he was truly awake.

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He’d startled awake a few times over the past few hours. Every time, he’d bolt upright, every muscle tensed, until those silver-gray eyes caught me sitting at the edge of the bed. After catching my scent and making sure it was really me, he’d let out a low whimper like a wolf pup, then drop right back to sleep.

I stayed with him the whole time, never leaving his side.

While he slept, I called for hot water.

I wrung out a towel and gently wiped the dirt from his small face, bit by bit.

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As the grime came away with the warm water, his true features finally started to show.

He looked so much like Steven.

Really, he was the spitting image of his father.

The arch of his brow, the bridge of his nose-he looked like a miniature version of my brother.

Only… he was far too thin.

His cheeks were sunken, his cheekbones sharp, his skin so pale it looked like tissue paper, ready to tear at a touch.

Even after washing him, that awful mix of cheap drugs, old blood, and sewer rot still clung to him. It was the mark of hell.

“He’s trembling, even in his dreams, Cindy.” Diana’s voice drifted through my mind, gentle and aching, like a mother wolf licking her pup’s wounds. “Poor cub, he’s scared to death.”

Just as I finished cleaning his hands, Astra’s eyelashes fluttered and he opened his eyes.

This time, there was no madness or vacancy in his gaze-only a clear, cautious kind of searching. He stared at me for a long time, as if he had to be sure I was real and not some last dream before dying.

Then his lips trembled, and silent tears rolled down his face.

But a moment later, he managed a silent smile.

That mixture of tears and a smile cut straight through my heart.

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Chapter 181 Are You Hungry?

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“Are you awake?” I forced down the lump in my throat, kept my voice gentle. “You’re covered in dirt. It must be uncomfortable. How about Aunt Cindy helps you take a bath, okay?”

He nodded right away, tried to sit up, but his body was so weak he nearly collapsed. I caught him fast, and it felt like I was lifting a skeleton, not an eight-year-old boy.

The bathtub was already filled with warm water.

I carried him over. He instinctively shrank back, clearly afraid of the water.

“Don’t worry, it’s warm.” I reassured him, scooping up water and letting it trickle gently down his back.

As the water rinsed him clean, every scar on his body stood out under the light.

His back was striped with whip marks, some just scabbed over, others still oozing blood. His left knee had a twisted, angry scar-a sign of a bone broken and never set right. His arms were covered in needle holes…

My hands shook, and tears dripped into the bath, making tiny ripples.

But I couldn’t let him hear me cry-I didn’t want to scare him.

His hair was long, matted, and hard as a shell from months without care. It stuck to his scalp with dirt and dried blood.

I took out the jujube oil I’d asked from the servants, warmed it in my palms, then carefully worked it into his hair, bit by bit.

“Hang in there, it might hurt. Aunt Cindy will get all the knots out.”

I started at the tips, working the comb through very slowly.

Whenever I hit a tangle, I soaked it with oil and loosened it with my fingers, a little at a time.

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