Luna. Chapter 178

(Lyra's POV)

"We need to dig up my mother's grave," I said over breakfast the next morning.

Victor dropped his coffee cup. It shattered on the kitchen floor, sending ceramic shards and hot liquid across the tiles.

"What did you just say?"

"You heard me. We need to exhume Isabella's body and verify that it's actually her."

"Lyra, that's—"

"That's what?" I stood up, feeling anger surge through me like electricity. "Necessary? Logical? The obvious next step in figuring out whether your brother has been lying to us for decades?"

"That's desecration of your mother's memory."

"My mother's memory doesn't require her corpse to be left undisturbed. It requires the truth."

Elena looked between us nervously. "Maybe we should think about this before making any drastic decisions."

"I've been thinking about it all night." I started cleaning up the broken ceramic, focusing on the physical task to keep my hands from shaking. "If Malachar has been watching our family for twenty-two years, he had access to Isabella before she died. He could have taken her."

"Taken her where?"

"I don't know. Somewhere he could keep her alive while making everyone think she was dead."

Victor's face had gone pale. "Lyra, your mother died of cancer. I watched her die. I held her hand when she took her last breath."

"You held someone's hand. But what if it wasn't hers?"

"What are you suggesting?"

"I'm suggesting that someone with Malachar's resources and obsession might have found a way to replace a dying woman with a magical duplicate while spiriting the real Isabella away to live out his fantasy."

The kitchen was silent except for the sound of me depositing ceramic pieces in the trash can.

"That's impossible," Elena said weakly.

"Is it? We're talking about someone who had access to goddess gems, twenty years to plan, and an obsession so complete he was willing to commit murder for it."

Victor sat down heavily. "Even if such a thing were possible, why would Malachar want to keep Isabella alive? What would be the point?"

"Control. Complete, absolute control over the woman he'd claimed to love."

The words hung in the air like poison.

"Dad, I know this is horrible to think about. But if there's even a chance Mom is still alive somewhere, don't we owe it to her to find out?"

"And if she's not? If we desecrate her grave and discover that she's exactly where she's supposed to be?"

"Then we'll know for certain that our enemy isn't Malachar. And we can focus our attention elsewhere."

Victor was quiet for a long time, staring at his hands. When he finally looked up, his eyes were filled with pain.

"I can't do it, Lyra. I can't dig up Isabella's grave based on a theory."

"Then I'll do it myself."

"No, you won't."

Something in his voice made me turn around. "Excuse me?"

"I said no. You're pregnant, you're under stress, and you're not thinking clearly."

"I'm thinking more clearly than I have in months."

"You're thinking like someone who's been traumatized by recent attacks and is looking for explanations that make sense of senseless violence."

I felt my enhanced abilities respond to my anger. The air around me began to shimmer with barely contained energy.

"Don't patronize me."

"I'm not patronizing you. I'm protecting you from making a decision you'll regret for the rest of your life."

"The only thing I'll regret is not knowing the truth about what happened to my mother."

Victor stood up, his own anger finally matching mine. "Your mother is dead, Lyra. She died twenty-two years ago after a painful battle with cancer. She's buried in Oakwood Cemetery under a headstone that says 'Beloved wife and mother.'"

"Prove it."

"I don't need to prove it. I lived through it."

"You lived through something. But until we verify what's actually in that grave, we won't know what it was."

"I'm not allowing you to desecrate Isabella's final resting place based on paranoid speculation."

The words hit me like a slap. Paranoid speculation.

Without thinking, without planning, without any conscious decision, my hand flew across the space between us and connected with my father's cheek.

The sound of the slap echoed through the kitchen like a gunshot.

Victor's head snapped to the side, and a red handprint bloomed on his skin. For a moment, we both stood frozen, shocked by what had just happened.

"I'm not paranoid," I said quietly. "I'm desperate. And there's a difference."

"Lyra—"

"No. You don't get to dismiss my concerns because they make you uncomfortable. You don't get to protect Isabella's memory by ignoring the possibility that she might still need protecting."

Victor touched his cheek, staring at me with a mixture of hurt and understanding.

"I'm sorry," he said finally. "You're right. Your concerns aren't paranoid. They're terrifying. And I don't know how to handle the possibility that I've been grieving a lie for twenty-two years."

"We handle it by finding out the truth."

"And if the truth is worse than what we've been believing?"

I thought about my mother, trapped somewhere for decades, waiting for someone to realize she was still alive.

"Then at least we'll be dealing with reality instead of comfortable fiction."

Elena, who had been silent throughout our argument, finally spoke. "There might be a way to verify Isabella's identity without exhuming the body."

"How?"

"DNA testing. If we can get a small sample from the burial site, we can compare it to your genetic profile."

"That would still require digging."

"Not much. Just enough to access the casket."

Victor closed his eyes. "I can't believe we're having this conversation."

"Dad, if Mom is still alive, she's been waiting twenty-two years for someone to come looking for her."

"And if she's not?"

"Then she's been dead for twenty-two years, and disturbing her grave won't hurt her."

He was quiet for a long time. When he opened his eyes, they were filled with resignation.

"If we do this, we do it properly. Legal permits, professional forensics team, complete documentation."

"How long will that take?"

"Weeks, probably."

"We don't have weeks. Not with everything else that's happening."

"Then we don't do it at all."

I looked at my father, seeing the fear and exhaustion in his face. He'd been protecting Isabella's memory for twenty-two years. The idea of disturbing that protection was breaking something inside him.

But the idea of leaving her trapped and forgotten was breaking something inside me.

"I'm going to the cemetery tonight," I said quietly. "With or without your permission."

"Lyra—"

"This is my mother we're talking about. My decision to make."

Victor stared at me for a long moment, then nodded slowly.

"Then I'll come with you. If Isabella is still alive, she shouldn't be rescued by strangers."