The Abandoned Luna's Journey to Power (by Emily Reed) novel Chapter 183

Chapter 183 Astra’s Writing

Cindy’s POV:

After the meal, I placed the paper and pens Adam had prepared on the table.

It was a thick leather-bound notebook and a fine pen.

“Astra.”

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I pulled him onto my lap-even though he was already eight years old, years of malnutrition had left him as light as a cat. Holding him took no effort at all.

I took his left hand, thin and slightly twisted. It was his dominant hand.

“Tell me,” my voice trembled, “these past three years… how did you escape? How did you end up here?”

There was a far more terrifying question buried in my heart. If he were alive, why didn’t he come home? Why didn’t he go to the academy or the Duskfang Pack to find me?

But I didn’t dare ask.

Astra stared at the

pen, his

gaze distant.

It seemed like he hadn’t touched something that represented learning and dignity in a very long time.

He reached out, trying to grip the pen.

But the hand that once wrote beautiful letters was now stiff and weak..

His fingers had been beaten and frostbitten for years. The joints were swollen and twisted, unable to make fine movements.

The pen slipped from his hand again and again.

He

grew

anxious. Sweat beaded on his forehead. Frustrated whimpers escaped his throat.

“Relax. Don’t rush,” I said quickly.

I wrapped my larger hand around his small one, steadying the pen for him.

“I’ll help you. Write slowly. We have plenty of time.”

With my help, he finally managed to put down the first shaky stroke.

Even the simplest words were painfully difficult for him.

Every line was a battle with his uncooperative hand. Every stroke trembled.

Looking at that scarred hand, I completely lost control. A tear fell onto the page, spreading a dark blot of

ink.

WED

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15:27 Wed, Jan 21 MG.

Chapter 183 Astra’s Writing

Astra stopped writing.

He lifted those dry, claw-like hands and awkwardly wiped my cheek, brushing away my tears.

Then he waved his hand at me, meaning-Don’t cry, it’s not painful.

My heart hurt even more.

He lowered his head again, gritting his teeth like a soldier heading into battle.

Three minutes passed.

At last, a few crooked, crawling words appeared on the page:

“Looking for Aunt Cindy.”

The moment I saw those words, it felt like a bolt of lightning struck the top of my head.

My body folded in on itself as a huge, ripping wave of grief tore up from deep inside me.

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