Trapped by Seven Mafia Wolves novel Chapter 86

**TITLE: Stars Refuse To Blink by Asa River Knox**
**CONTENT: Graphite Petals**

**Aurora’s POV**

Curled up by the window, I draw my knees tightly to my chest, the fabric of my hoodie enveloping me like a comforting cocoon. The oversized sleeves swallow my hands, making me feel small and protected. The scent of fabric softener mingles with a hint of dust, layered with that peculiar cologne Andrei insists on using whenever he decides to do his own laundry—something that still surprises me. Who knew he had such domestic tendencies?

Outside, the world is cloaked in a dull, lifeless grey. The clouds hang heavy in the sky, seemingly uninterested in drifting away, much like my own lack of motivation today. I find my gaze drifting past the garden, where the vibrant colors of summer have faded into a muted palette.

It’s then that I spot two of the house staff outside. At first, they blend into the background, but my attention sharpens when I notice the long black box they’re carrying. It’s not quite the size of a coffin, but it’s close enough to send a shiver down my spine, tightening my throat in an uncomfortable way.

I blink, straightening my posture slightly, my heart quickening as I watch them. It takes both of them to manage the box, and they handle it with a carefulness that feels almost reverent. As they turn the corner of the property, the box disappears from view, shrouded in secrecy.

A frown creases my forehead. That box… it could easily contain a whole person. The thought flares up in my mind unbidden, not meant to frighten me, yet here I am, trembling at the mere implication of it.

But why? Why did my mind leap to such a grim conclusion?

I wrap my arms tighter around my knees, trying to shake off the unease. No, no. They can’t all be like them. I attempt to laugh at myself, whispering under my breath, “It’s probably just full of wine or… maybe a really long lamp.” The attempt at humor falls flat, leaving me feeling even more unsettled.

Carefully, I rise to my feet, one hand instinctively resting against my side where the bruises from Savina’s “tryout surprise” are still blooming like unsightly flowers beneath my hoodie. The fabric rubs against my skin, sending a jolt of pain through me as I make my way to my desk. My sketchbook sits there, waiting patiently, a familiar presence in the midst of my swirling thoughts.

I sink into my chair, cradling the sketchbook in my lap for a moment, savoring the comfort it brings. “I missed you,” I whisper softly, the words a secret shared only between us.

The faint scent of graphite and aged wood wafts up as I open to a fresh page, a blank canvas that holds the promise of creation. My fingers tremble slightly as I begin to draw, the pencil gliding across the surface.

I start with a flower, simple yet delicate, its petals curling as if they’re folding in on themselves. I shade the edges with gentle strokes, careful not to press too hard, as if the very act of drawing might shatter its beauty. The stem is thin and wobbly, giving the impression that it could snap at the slightest gust of wind. A small chuckle escapes me, the irony not lost on me. “Ha… sounds familiar, doesn’t it?”

“It’s nice,” I mumble to myself, “but it’s not quite right…”

With a flick of my wrist, I flip the page, my pencil moving with newfound determination. This time, I sketch a cat—big triangular ears and enormous, judgmental eyes. I add a face, sharp cheekbones and that signature pouty sneer. Red-tinted nails glimmer like polished jewels. Savina.

A grin tugs at the corners of my lips.

Next, I draw a boot—big and clunky, the kind that would stomp down directly onto the tail of Savina’s cat, who now appears to be yelling in protest.

A giggle bubbles up, so soft that I almost miss it.

I quickly cover my mouth with my hand, whispering, “No—that’s mean.”

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