Trapped by Seven Mafia Wolves novel Chapter 69

**Lost**

**Aurora’s POV**

As we step out of the store, the weight of the uniform bag hangs heavily in my arms, a tangible reminder of the day’s unfolding chaos. I instinctively glance up, momentarily blinded by the harsh glare of the fluorescent lights that seem to hum with an unsettling energy. The cacophony of voices buzzes around me, a dissonant symphony that mixes with the enticing aromas of warm pretzels and sugary perfumes swirling through the air, each scent tugging at my senses. My gaze flits anxiously from Jace to Leon, and then to Luka, who is already grumbling under his breath, his irritation radiating like an electric charge.

“Let’s explore a bit,” Leon proposes, stretching his arms above his head, his carefree grin illuminating his face as if we were not in a bustling mall but rather on some grand adventure. “We’ve got time to kill.”

A collective nod of agreement passes among us, a silent consensus reached without the need for further discussion. Yet, amidst the playful banter—Luka’s snide remark about the food court being “designed by peasants” and Leon enthusiastically leading us toward a store boasting a massive anime figure outside—I suddenly halt, a jolt of anxiety shooting through me.

I turn my head left, then right, my heart hammering in my chest as the realization strikes me like a cold wave.

They’re gone.

Panic surges within me, and I spin around once more, my movements frantic and desperate. Jace’s tall silhouette is nowhere to be found. Leon’s fluffy hair is swallowed by the crowd. Luka’s sharp, scrutinizing gaze is lost among the sea of unfamiliar faces. My chest constricts painfully. No. No, no, no.

Driven by desperation, I duck into the nearest boutique, the soft chime of the bell above the door echoing my mounting anxiety. I clutch my bag tightly against my chest, peering through the glass display windows, my heart pleading for a familiar face to emerge from the throng.

But there’s nothing. Just the reflection of my own wide-eyed panic staring back at me, a ghost in a glass prison.

I shuffle back toward the door, my heart pounding louder with each step, only to collide with someone unexpectedly.

“Ah—sorry!” I stammer, nearly losing my grip on the bag. A boy, probably around the same age as Leon or Luka, stands before me, tall and dressed in a dark hoodie, headphones draped casually around his neck. His expression shifts from annoyance to confusion as he takes in the sight of me, a lost soul in a sea of shoppers.

“You okay?” he asks, his brow furrowing with genuine concern, a flicker of kindness in his gaze.

I bite down on the inside of my cheek, torn between the instinct to nod and the urge to shake my head. “I—I lost my brothers,” I finally manage to say, my voice barely rising above a whisper, fragile and trembling.

His expression softens, a flicker of sympathy igniting in his eyes. “Your parents?”

“I don’t have parents,” I mumble, the words feeling heavy on my tongue, burdened by the truth. “Just brothers.”

He crouches slightly, trying to meet my gaze, his sincerity disarming. “You got a phone or anything?”

I shake my head again, frustration bubbling within me, a bitter taste in my mouth. Stupid. Why didn’t I bring it? If only I had one. He scans the boutique, as if searching for a solution to my predicament. “Okay… let’s try—”

“Rafa.”

The familiar voice cuts through my panic like a knife, sharp and unwelcome.

Luka.

The boy—Rafa—turns at the sound of the name, a flicker of recognition crossing his features. “Luka?” They exchange nods, a silent acknowledgment that feels like a secret I’m not part of, a bond that excludes me. Luka steps closer, his eyes sweeping over me, and I can almost feel the chill of his gaze, a winter wind cutting through my warmth.

“She’s been wandering around,” he says casually, shrugging as if my distress is of little consequence, a minor inconvenience in his day. “Lost from her brothers.”

A flutter of something—hope?—stirs within me, but it’s quickly extinguished by the smirk that follows, a cruel twist of his lips.

“Poor her.”

Those two words hit me like a punch to the gut, knocking the breath from my lungs. My chest caves in, the air catching in my throat. He doesn’t say I’m with him. He doesn’t acknowledge our connection. He doesn’t even mention that I’m one of the people he’s supposed to be looking after.

“Poor her,” he repeats, as if I’m just another stranger in a crowd, a faceless silhouette. He doesn’t claim me as his sister. He doesn’t even utter my name. I feel like a ghost, invisible and forgotten in a world that rushes by.

Tightening my grip on the bag, I blink back the tears that threaten to spill over, a dam on the verge of breaking. Without a word, I turn on my heel and walk away, my legs moving faster than my heart can keep pace, a desperate escape from the hurt.

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