Hades' Cursed Luna novel Chapter 328

They stared into mine, unflinching even as my body convulsed, even as the capsule hissed louder and the scent of scorched flesh filled the air.

He made no sound.

No movement.

Just… watched.

And just like every other time I'd seen him over the years, no one else did.

The first time I noticed him had been

a punishment session at eleven. Bloodied hands. Cracked ribs. I'd thought I'd passed out until I looked up from the ground and saw him, just watching. Not curious. Not afraid. Not even empathetic.

Just present.

I'd looked away then. And when I looked back, he was gone.

After that, he came during moments of weakness. Pain. Exhaustion. Doubt.

Never during training.

Never when I was winning.

Only when I was bleeding. Failing. Breaking.

And now, as the third dose of Vassir's Vein carved its way through me like divine poison, the boy watched again. His green eyes unreadable, unblinking, unwavering.

I didn't dare speak.

Didn't dare reach.

Because if I acknowledged him—if I said a word out loud—I feared what the answer might be.

That I was hallucinating.

That I was already slipping.

That the Flux had already started peeling my mind apart.

He stayed until the pain reached its peak—until I felt like my soul was about to split down the center and spill out across the floor—and then, just as silently as he came, he turned.

And walked away.

Through the wall.

Gone without a trace.

No door opened. No ripple of energy.

Just… disappeared.

The pain didn't stop. But the terror did.

Because if he was back, it meant the Flux was in now. And something—someone—had been waiting.

I sagged forward in the harness, barely conscious.

Behind the glass, Father said something. A Delta responded. I heard numbers. Protocols. Words like "stabilize" and "monitor cortical decay."

But it was already too late.

Something inside me had changed.

And someone had been watching it happen.

---

Eve

Three Hours to the Rite

I had to prepare for the journey to Elysia's burial site.

Every part of me was fraying—physically, spiritually—but I'd held myself together for one reason: Elliot. He was the thread keeping me sane, reminding me why I had to do this the right way, not the fast way. Not the cruel way.

I pushed open the door to our quarters, already rehearsing the words I'd use to explain things to him, gently, carefully.

"Elliot," I called softly.

Silence.

My eyes fell on the bed—neatly made, the blanket undisturbed.

A ripple of unease curled through my spine.

I crossed the room quickly, thinking maybe he'd curled up beneath it like he sometimes did when the world outside felt too loud. I crouched down and lifted the hem.

Empty.

Not under the bed.

"Elliot?" My voice was sharper now.

I checked the bathroom—door ajar, lights off.

Nothing.

I swung open the wardrobe.

Just his folded clothes and one of the paper drawings he liked to leave for me: a moon, a girl with long hair, a little stick boy beside her.

But no Elliot.

I turned in a slow circle, dread thickening with every breath. The curtains were drawn, the windows locked. No sign of struggle. No smell of blood.

But the boy was gone.

Gone.

I stood still in the center of the room, my pulse thudding so loud it drowned everything else out. He never left without me. Not in this tower. Not with everything happening. And after what he'd been through, after how long it took for him to sleep in this room without screaming…

I stopped in my tracks. _{freewёbnoνel.com}