Chapter 34: The Twin Nobody Told Me About

I thought I had run out of family secrets.

Apparently not.

"My aunt?"

Mom sat down slowly.

"Seraphina was born seven minutes before me."

"And you never mentioned her."

"I thought she was dead."

Cassian's voice came through Rowan's speakerphone.

"So did I."

Mireya covered her face.

I looked between them.

"How did nobody tell me my mother had a twin?"

Mom's eyes were wet.

"Because speaking about her hurt."

"That's not an answer."

"No."

She wiped her face.

"It isn't."

I sat opposite her.

"Tell me now."

Seraphina and Selene Lunaris had grown up together as the Alpha's twin daughters.

Seraphina was stronger physically.

Mom was stronger academically.

They fought constantly.

Loved each other fiercely.

When the attack happened, they were separated.

Mom escaped through the southern tunnels.

Seraphina stayed with Aurelius.

Her body was never found.

"Why assume she died?"

"Because the Alpha residence burned."

Cassian's voice was rough.

"We searched afterward."

Mireya whispered, "Not well enough."

Mom closed her eyes.

"If Marcus took her..."

Nobody finished the thought.

I turned back to the phone.

"Rowan, what exactly is in the photograph?"

"She's sitting in a medical room. There's a code beneath it."

"Read it."

"L-02."

Mireya inhaled sharply.

"What?"

She looked at me.

"Your mother was L-01 in old Lunaris compatibility records."

Mom went still.

"So L-02 was Seraphina."

My stomach twisted.

Project Moon Crown had numbered them before the massacre.

Not random victims.

Targets.

"Any dates?"

Rowan shuffled papers.

"First image is eighteen years ago."

"And last?"

Pause.

"Nine years ago."

Mom made a broken sound.

"She lived."

For at least nine years after everyone believed her dead.

I felt sick.

"What happened after that?"

"Records stop."

Cassian said, "We're searching the entire facility."

I wanted to be there.

But for once, I understood why Rowan had kept me away.

If Mom's twin had been imprisoned there, the facility wasn't just evidence.

It was a grave.

Three hours later, investigators found a hidden archive.

Most files were encrypted.

One wasn't.

A video.

Rowan sent it through Nightvale's secure system.

Mom almost refused to watch.

Then she took my hand.

We sat together.

The screen flickered.

A young woman appeared.

She looked so much like Mom that for a second my brain rejected what I was seeing.

Same dark hair.

Same eyes.

But thinner.

Exhausted.

A bruise marked one cheek.

Someone off camera asked:

"State your name."

"Seraphina Lunaris."

"Bloodline position?"

"Go to hell."

The recording skipped.

Another clip.

Seraphina strapped to a medical chair.

I wanted to look away.

I didn't.

"Mate resonance remains nonresponsive," a researcher said.

"Subject rejects induced bond."

Marcus's younger voice answered.

"Increase dosage."

Mom sobbed.

I paused the video.

"No more."

She shook her head.

"I need to know."

We continued.

Years passed through timestamps.

Seraphina survived every experiment.

Refused every artificial bond.

Fought every handler.

In one clip, she bit a researcher badly enough that security dragged him away bleeding.

Despite everything, I almost smiled.

"Definitely family," I whispered.

Mom laughed through tears.

The final recording was dated nine years ago.

Seraphina sat alone.

She looked directly into the camera.

"I know you watch these, Marcus."

Her voice was weak.

"But you'll never get what you want."

She leaned closer.

"Lunaris power isn't blood you can bottle."

Her eyes flashed gold.

"It chooses."

The recording glitched.

Then she said something that made everyone freeze.

"And you picked the wrong twin."

The video ended.

Mom stared at the black screen.

"What does that mean?"

Mireya looked at her.

"Maybe Marcus believed Seraphina was the stronger compatibility carrier."

"But she wasn't?"

Mireya looked toward me.

"Perhaps not."

My phone rang.

Rowan.

I answered.

"We found another room."

My heart hammered.

"Another patient?"

"No."

"Then what?"

"A nursery."

Nobody spoke.

I felt cold from head to toe.

"What do you mean nursery?"

"Cribs. Medical equipment. Genetic records."

Mom stood so quickly the chair fell.

"No."

Rowan's voice was careful.

"Nessa, there are files labeled second-generation trials."

I couldn't breathe.

"Children?"

"We don't know yet."

Cassian shouted something in the background.

Then Rowan said, "Wait."

Silence.

"Nessa."

"What?"

"We found a birth record."

Mom grabbed my arm.

"Whose?"

Rowan hesitated.

"Female infant. Mother: Seraphina Lunaris."

The room spun.

My mother had a twin.

My aunt had survived.

And somewhere, possibly, she had left behind a daughter.

Another Lunaris heir.

Later, I wrote everything down before sleep because too much had changed too quickly. I recorded the names, the promises, the mistakes, and the choices that still belonged to me. For years I had measured progress with numbers on a scale, but Lunaris was teaching me another kind of progress: the ability to face an uncomfortable truth without running from it, to accept help without surrendering control, and to let people prove themselves through consistent actions rather than beautiful words. Whatever happened next, I wanted to remember that distinction.

Later, I wrote everything down before sleep because too much had changed too quickly. I recorded the names, the promises, the mistakes, and the choices that still belonged to me. For years I had measured progress with numbers on a scale, but Lunaris was teaching me another kind of progress: the ability to face an uncomfortable truth without running from it, to accept help without surrendering control, and to let people prove themselves through consistent actions rather than beautiful words. Whatever happened next, I wanted to remember that distinction.