Luna spooned the last bite of her rice into her mouth, savoring the warmth of the meal, the quiet clink of silverware, and the easy silence that only came when one felt safe.
Her father sat across from her, calm as ever, sipping his tea with quiet satisfaction. As the comfort of the evening settled in, Luna leaned back in her chair and let out a soft sigh, her eyelids growing heavier by the second.
"Thanks, Dad," she murmured, her voice thick with drowsiness. "For picking me up earlier… even though I probably weighed a ton."
Emmerich glanced at her with a small grin, setting his cup down. "I'm strong enough that a ton weighs nothing."
Luna let out a quiet laugh, her head resting on the table's edge. "Show-off."
"You're my daughter," Emmerich said, brushing a strand of hair away from her eyes. "Showing off is expected."
Luna yawned, the kind that filled her whole face, and mumbled, "Good night, Dad…"
Her voice faded, soft and peaceful, and Emmerich rose silently from his chair, carefully helping her back to the bed without waking her further. He pulled the blanket up to her shoulders and kissed her forehead, murmuring, "Good night, Luna."
The light dimmed as he stepped out and closed the door.
The world was loud and blurred in motion—shouts behind her, shoes slapping pavement, Emilio's breath ragged in her ear.
"Luna, I can't—I can't—!"
"You can," she hissed, grasping his wrist tighter. "Just a little more!"
They darted around a corner, Luna's sharp eyes scanning for any sign of help, any door, any alley, any people. The thugs behind them weren't giving up, and Emilio stumbled again, panting.
"I c-can't run—"
With a sharp turn, Luna skidded to a stop, crouched down. "Get on. Now!"
"What?!"
"Piggyback. Now, Emilio!"
Despite his protests, Emilio clambered onto her back, and Luna surged forward with everything she had—her small legs pounding against the pavement, lungs burning like wildfire.
"You're so heavy!" she gasped.
"Sorry—!"
"Shut up and hold on!"
She didn't stop. Not even when her vision blurred. Not even when her legs screamed. Somewhere inside her—something stronger than fear and pain roared.
She saw the police station.
She screamed.
"HELP! POLICE! PLEASE—!!"
Two officers burst through the door just as she collapsed on the steps, Emilio still on her back. She shoved him off and pushed herself up, breathless but loud.
"There's three of them—black van—two streets back—they tried to grab him—we got away—they're still chasing—!"
Her voice cracked but didn't fail.
"I have pictures. My phone—front pocket—!"
One officer crouched to steady her while the other grabbed the phone, already barking orders into his radio.
Beside her, Emilio sobbed into his knees, and Luna curled around him, arms shaking but firm.
"Food," she whispered, hoarsely, to a kind-looking policeman nearby. "Please—he didn't get to eat… he was so hungry before this started…"
"Got it," the officer nodded and walked briskly toward the back.
Luna stared at Emilio's dirt-smudged face, her own cheeks streaked with tears and grime. She didn't let go.
Even in her dreams, she held on tight.
The room was warmer now in her dream—safety hummed in the fluorescent lights and steady bustle of the police station. Luna, dirt-streaked and still catching her breath, glanced to Emilio whose nose was running again from all the crying.
"Use this," she said, tugging out a slightly crumpled towel from her small backpack and shoving it into his hands. "Don't use your sleeve, that's gross."
Emilio mumbled a teary, "Thank you," as he buried his face into it with a loud sniff.
Luna stood straighter, even if her legs still shook. She turned toward the officer helping them, a woman in her mid-thirties with sharp but kind eyes.
"Do we need to fill out any paperwork?" Luna asked, eyes direct. "For the report?"
The policewoman blinked, surprised. "Usually, a guardian or a parent files it. If you call your parents—"
"We don't have any," Luna said, matter-of-factly. "Neither of us. We're under the government's social guidance program, but since we both passed the intellectual test and showed emotional stability, we were approved to live alone."
There was a pause. The woman's composure slipped briefly, lips parting as if unsure what to say. Her eyes flicked to Emilio, who had gone quiet—his sobbing replaced by soft hiccups. The words "no parents" seemed to hollow something out inside him, and his shoulders trembled again.
One of the older officers—stern-faced and gruff-looking—crossed the room and gently picked up Emilio, holding him as if he were something fragile and precious. Emilio clung to him like a lifeline, burying his face in the man's shoulder.
Luna looked on, jaw tight.
"I'll file the report with your statement," the policewoman said at last, her voice quieter, gentler. "You'll just need to answer a few questions for me, alright?"
Luna nodded and sat in the waiting chair, pulling a granola bar from her backpack. She unwrapped it and chewed quietly, listening as Emilio's sobs softened into silence against the station chief's shoulder.
She didn't cry. She couldn't.
Someone had to hold it together.
A soft breeze brushed Luna's cheek, the scent of dinner long faded in the air. She stirred from sleep, still feeling the echo of weight on her back, the burn in her legs, the firm crinkle of that granola bar wrapper.
Her eyes fluttered open in the dim light of her room. The dream, vivid as ever, slowly receded into the quiet present.
"…That happened," she murmured aloud, her voice hoarse from sleep.
She laid there for a moment, eyes fixed on the ceiling, letting the pieces fall into place. The bruises on her limbs, the ache in her body—it must have stirred her mind deeper, dug into memories buried long ago.
The kidnapping, the run, the police station.
Emilio.
She had carried him.
She had protected him.
Even back then.
Luna pressed a hand to her chest, grounding herself, then whispered, "Guess I was already trying to be strong before I even knew what it meant…"
She stared into the ceiling's silence, both heavier and lighter than before.