The Lunar Crest Academy: Marked by The Lycans
Chapter 46: Scribbles

Chapter 46: Chapter 46: Scribbles

It felt like I’d been here for days.

Not hours. Days.

Time didn’t exist in this place. The white room stripped it away. No windows. No clocks. No shadows. Just this blinding, unnatural light that never flickered, never dimmed. The walls, the floor, the ceiling, everything was white. Bleached, sterile, soulless

It was quiet too.

But not peaceful. No, this was the kind of silence that screamed. A silence so loud it pressed in on my ears like a scream trapped inside my skull. Even my breath felt like it echoed, like the sound of my lungs expanding was too violent for the air here.

I tried to speak once, just to hear something familiar. My own voice bounced back at me. Hollow. Alien.

It scared me.

And I hated that it did.

I sat curled in the corner for what felt like forever, knees hugged to my chest, eyes squinting against the fluorescent brightness that never gave me rest. My head throbbed. My lips were dry. My stomach was cramping from the absence of food, and my throat burned with thirst. But worse than the hunger... was the stillness.

This place wasn’t built to punish.

It was built to break.

No pain. No blood. No beatings.

Just silence. White. Nothingness.

It was killing me slowly.

I couldn’t let it win.

I wouldn’t let it win.

I pushed myself to my feet, even though my legs trembled from dehydration. My body was weak, but my will was still mine, and I would rather lose my mind on my own terms than let Astrid Voss take it from me.

I staggered toward the wall. White, seamless, smooth. Nothing to grip. Nothing to scratch. Just a blank expanse stretching on forever.

I pressed my palm to it. Cold.

Then I let my fingers shift. It was pitiful. Barely anything, just a slight extension of my nails. Not claws. Not really. My wolf was still buried, still asleep

But this was enough.

Just enough.

I dragged my fingers against the wall. The scratch was so soft I wasn’t even sure it left a mark. But it didn’t matter. I just kept going. A line here. A swirl there. I didn’t know what I was drawing. I didn’t care.

It wasn’t about art.

It was about noise.

About movement.

About doing something in a place designed to make you do nothing until your mind split open from the quiet.

Line after line, swirl after swirl, I carved tiny patterns into the wall, barely visible. Symbols. Shapes. Sometimes letters. I wasn’t even sure whose name I scratched into the paintless surface, but I kept doing it.

Over and over.

Lorraine was here.

I dug deeper, my weak claws tearing slightly at my own fingertips, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t stop.

Because the longer I scratched, the less I heard the silence. The less I noticed the light.

I wasn’t going to give Astrid the satisfaction. I wouldn’t be one of those ferals they said "just snapped."

They wanted me to crumble in the corner

They wanted me to scream, to beg, to go mad.

But I would not.

If I had to go crazy, I would go crazy on my own damn terms.

With every shaky breath, I kept at it. Drawing. Scribbling. Writing nonsense. Letting the wall speak when no one else would. Filling the emptiness with pieces of myself that no one could erase.

I didn’t know how much longer I would last in here. I didn’t know if anyone was coming... if he would come.

But I knew this much

I was still here.

And I hadn’t broken.

Not yet.

....

Kieran’s POV

The cold wind bit against my skin as I strode across the academy grounds, but I barely felt it.

My boots echoed with authority on the polished stone paths, students scrambling out of my way, sensing my mood, my power, or maybe the deadly purpose in my stride. I didn’t bother hiding it.

I didn’t even understand it.

I shouldn’t care.

I didn’t want to care.

But I couldn’t stop thinking about her, about Lorraine Anderson locked away in that cursed white room with no food, no water, and no sound. A cage built not to punish but to unravel the mind. A slow, suffocating spiral into madness.

The thought of her there made something growl inside me.

My wolf.

A wolf that was usually quiet. It only stirred for war, for blood, for violence. But now it was pacing, snarling beneath my skin like a beast threatened, unsettled.

And it was all because of her.

The building stood tall and bleak, tucked away behind the main academy structure, unremarkable to most, but infamous to those who knew what went on inside. The air around it smelled stale. Like emptiness and despair

There were four guards stationed at the entrance. Not just any guards, Lycans-in-training, elite brutes picked for their unwavering loyalty to Astrid Voss.

They stilled the moment they saw me approaching. Eyes wide. Postures stiff.

One of them dared to step forward. "Your Highness... what brings the Lycan Prince to the punishment halls?"

I didn’t slow my pace. "I’ve come to retrieve my servant."

They blinked in confusion.

"Her name," I said darkly, "is Lorraine Anderson. You will release her. Now."

The lead guard glanced back nervously. "Sir..... Director Voss has issued strict—"

There was sickening cracking sound

His neck snapped before the others even registered my movement.

The second went down before he could scream.

The third tried to shift. Too slow

The fourth dropped his weapon and backed away, trembling.

"Don’t, please" he pleaded

But I couldn’t even hear him as I grabbed and twisted his neck too.

The bodies collapsed to the ground with dull, final thuds. Their scents already fading. My chest heaved once before I turned toward the thick white door and slammed my boot through it. The hinges tore off. The metal groaned. The door shattered inward with a crash that echoed down the sterile hallway behind it.

The moment I stepped inside, I was assaulted by light.

Blinding. Artificial. Brutal.

White walls. White floors. White ceiling. A void designed to erase the mind. It made my head throb and my senses recoil. My wolf growled louder, pacing, prowling.

Then I saw her.

She didn’t hear me enter.

Lorraine stood in the far corner of the room, facing the wall, her back to me, one hand dragging weakly across the surface in an endless loop. Her fingernails were barely claws, dull, worn from exhaustion, but she was stil trying. Still doing something.

Her hair was a mess of dark tangles, sticking to her face from sweat. Her legs shook with every movement, and yet she stood.

Not curled up.

Not broken.

Standing.

I didn’t speak at first. I just stared.

What the hell was she doing?

Her hand moved in small, trembling strokes, as if she didn’t know what she was writing. It wasn’t just random scratches either. Symbols. Patterns. Some were jagged. Others were circular. And then I realized—

My stomach tightened.

I knew those marks.

They were exactly like the ones carved into the walls of Astrid’s secret chamber.

Ancient. Written in a language that neither of us had understood.

Lorraine had drawn it all. Recreated it with horrifying precision.

How?

"Lorraine," I said, my voice cutting through the sterile silence.

She froze.

Slowly, painfully, she turned back to to face me. Her eyes, red-rimmed and hollow, met mine, and for the briefest second, I saw something fierce still burning there. Her lips parted, as if she wanted to speak.

Then her legs gave out.

I didn’t think. I didn’t breathe.

I was there before her body could hit the floor.

My arms caught her. She was light. Too light. Her skin was cold, her pulse too faint. I pulled her close against my chest as I brushed a strand of damp hair away from her face.

"You held on well, little wolf"