Chapter 393\u00a0<\/p>\n
Riley\u2019s POV\u00a0<\/p>\n
0:0\u00a0<\/p>\n
&\u00a0<\/p>\n
58\u00a0<\/p>\n
Finished\u00a0<\/p>\n
I looked at him, and there wasn\u2019t a ripple of emotion in my gaze-just a still, lifeless void. A dead lake inside me.\u00a0<\/p>\n
After a moment, I slowly lowered my leg and turned to face him. My voice came out hoarse, as if scraped by sandpaper.\u00a0<\/p>\n
\u201cIf you don\u2019t want to interfere with my fate, then why are you here stopping me?\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n
The man took a drag of his cigarette and exhaled slowly. Smoke curled upward, catching the moonlight and swirling between us like a veil. His eyes locked onto me through the haze.\u00a0<\/p>\n
\u201cLife\u2019s like a play,\u201d he said, his tone calm and unhurried. \u201cSometimes all it takes is one more audience member to change the story. I\u2019m curious-if you don\u2019t die tonight, what kind of tale you\u2019ll end up telling.\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n
I blinked, momentarily stunned. His face remained cold and detached, so indifferent it chilled\u00a0<\/p>\n
Most people either cared or didn\u2019t. He\u2026 hovered somewhere in between, like he could walk away and forget me ever existed.\u00a0<\/p>\n
And yet-his words, not quite a plea, not even encouragement-still managed to crack something inside me.\u00a0<\/p>\n
No one really wants to die. Not deep down.\u00a0<\/p>\n
If life could still be beautiful\u2026 who wouldn\u2019t want to stay and see it through?\u00a0<\/p>\n
\u201cMy story\u2019s already ruined,\u201d I murmured, eyes dropping to the pavement. \u201cThere\u2019s nothing left worth watching.\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n
He didn\u2019t seem fazed.\u00a0<\/p>\n
\u201cNot necessarily. The best parts usually come at the end.\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n
I went silent. My gaze dropped to my body-bruised, scarred, aching. For a while, I just stared. Thinking.\u00a0<\/p>\n
Then I looked up again, and for the first time in a long while, there was a faint flicker of light in\u00a0<\/p>\n
my eyes.\u00a0<\/p>\n
\u201cDo you think I could really start over?\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n
1\/5\u00a0<\/p>\n
Chapter 393\u00a0<\/p>\n
E\u00a0<\/p>\n
68\u00a0<\/p>\n
Finished\u00a0<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy not?\u201d he replied. \u201cIf you want to, you can. Anytime.\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n
His words settled into me like the first warmth after a long winter. It wasn\u2019t hope exactly\u2026 but it was close. A small crack of sunlight in the endless dark.\u00a0<\/p>\n
A gust of night wind whipped through the bridge, and I shivered involuntarily.\u00a0<\/p>\n
He noticed.\u00a0<\/p>\n
Without a word, he shrugged off his black jacket and held it out to me.\u00a0<\/p>\n
\u201cPut this on. Don\u2019t catch a cold.\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n
I hesitated. Then took it.\u00a0<\/p>\n
It smelled faintly of smoke, clean cotton, and something else I couldn\u2019t quite place-something masculine and steady. The warmth wrapped around my shoulders like a shield, and for a second\u2026 I felt safe.\u00a0<\/p>\n
\u201cThank you,\u201d I said quietly.\u00a0<\/p>\n
\u201cYou really want to thank me?\u201d he asked.\u00a0<\/p>\n
\u201cHuh?\u201d I glanced at him, confused.\u00a0<\/p>\n
\u201cYou said thank you, didn\u2019t you?\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2026 yes?\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n
He looked at me with a strange expression, like he was both amused and vaguely entertained. His eyes-sharp, unreadable-narrowed slightly.\u00a0<\/p>\n
Then he asked, \u201cYou practice Moonweaving?\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n
My brows furrowed. How did he know that?\u00a0<\/p>\n
He tilted his chin slightly toward me.\u00a0<\/p>\n
I looked down-and froze.\u00a0<\/p>\n
Right there, stitched into the chest of the jacket I was wearing, was a lunar bloom sigil.\u00a0<\/p>\n
And not just any bloom.\u00a0<\/p>\n
Mine.\u00a0<\/p>\n
2\/5\u00a0<\/p>\n
Chapter 393\u00a0<\/p>\n
A $58\u00a0<\/p>\n
Finished\u00a0<\/p>\n
I recognized the stitchwork instantly-woven threads enchanted beneath moonlight, petals inked with ancient lunar patterns, glowing faintly under the right light. It was unmistakably mine.\u00a0<\/p>\n
I jerked my head up, staring at him.\u00a0<\/p>\n
How\u2026?\u00a0<\/p>\n
He didn\u2019t say anything. He didn\u2019t need to.\u00a0<\/p>\n
\u201cYour Moonweave is impressive,\u201d he said eventually, his voice still cold, but with an odd note of reverence. He pulled out his phone and tapped it.\u00a0<\/p>\n
A photo filled the screen. It was another piece of Moonweaving-this one etched onto silk, shimmering in its unfinished brilliance.\u00a0<\/p>\n
\u201cThis sigil is clearly crafted by a true daughter of the old packs,\u201d he said. \u201cBut it\u2019s incomplete. The weaver didn\u2019t finish it. If you could complete it for me, that\u2019ll be your thank you.\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n
I stared at the screen, stunned.\u00a0<\/p>\n
I knew this pattern. I knew every glowing strand.\u00a0<\/p>\n
It was mine.\u00a0<\/p>\n
I had started weaving that sigil while imprisoned-quiet nights, moonlight filtering through iron bars. I hadn\u2019t finished it because I\u2019d been released before I could.\u00a0<\/p>\n
But\u2026 how had it gotten into his hands?\u00a0<\/p>\n
\u201cSir,\u201d I asked, voice trembling, \u201cwhere did you get that Moonweave?\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n
\u201cPack auction house,\u201d he said simply. \u201cI bought it.\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n
A Pack auction? My Moonweaving? I thought I must\u2019ve misheard.\u00a0<\/p>\n
I knew I was skilled. The guards used to whisper about my hands like they were sacred. But I\u2019d always assumed I was just\u2026 good enough. Nothing more.\u00a0<\/p>\n
And yet\u2026\u00a0<\/p>\n
I clutched his phone tightly. My voice shook as I whispered, \u201cDo you mind me asking\u2026 how much did you pay for it?\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n
He studied me for a moment, then replied, \u201cTwenty million.\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n
I nearly dropped his phone.\u00a0<\/p>\n
3\/5\u00a0<\/p>\n
16:28 Fri, Jan 2 M\u00a0<\/p>\n
Chapter 393\u00a0<\/p>\n
P:\u00a0<\/p>\n
58\u00a0<\/p>\n
Finished\u00a0<\/p>\n
Twenty million?\u00a0<\/p>\n
Twenty. Million.\u00a0<\/p>\n
He said it so casually, like he hadn\u2019t just dropped a bomb.\u00a0<\/p>\n
And that wasn\u2019t even the end of it.\u00a0<\/p>\n
\u201cThat was actually a discount,\u201d he added. \u201cThis piece was supposed to rival the Moonwoven Pines tapestry I bought last year for thirty million. But since this one was incomplete, its value dropped. Still\u2026 the sigil on your jacket-it matches flawlessly. If you complete this piece, no one would ever tell it wasn\u2019t woven by a single soul.\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n
Moonwoven Pines\u2026\u00a0<\/p>\n
My mind reeled. I had crafted that too.\u00a0<\/p>\n
My hands shook. Without meaning to, I swiped the screen again.\u00a0<\/p>\n
There it was.\u00a0<\/p>\n
A majestic silver crane perched beneath moonlit pines. Threads gleamed as if blessed by a lunar priestess. Every stitch in that piece-mine.\u00a0<\/p>\n
I couldn\u2019t breathe.\u00a0<\/p>\n
He went on, calm as ever.\u00a0<\/p>\n
\u201cI gave that one to my grandmother as a solstice gift. She adored it. So when I saw another Moonweave by the same hand, I had to claim it.\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n
Thirty million?\u00a0<\/p>\n
Thirty. Million?\u00a0<\/p>\n
My throat went dry. My vision blurred. I couldn\u2019t process it.\u00a0<\/p>\n
Those numbers\u2026 I couldn\u2019t even fathom them.\u00a0<\/p>\n
And they were attached to something I made with my hands?\u00a0<\/p>\n
No wonder the prisoners never touched my fingers, no matter how cruel their beatings.\u00a0<\/p>\n
No wonder the guards shielded me each time I took up the Moonneedle.\u00a0<\/p>\n
My hands\u2026 weren\u2019t just skilled.\u00a0<\/p>\n
4\/5\u00a0<\/p>\n
16:28 Fri, Jan 2 \u2026\u00a0<\/p>\n
Chapter 303\u00a0<\/p>\n
finished\u00a0<\/p>\n
They were sacred.\u00a0<\/p>\n
A wave of sorrow followed the shock-cold and bitter and suffocating.\u00a0<\/p>\n
If I had known\u2026\u00a0<\/p>\n
If I had known what my Moonweaving was truly worth, maybe I wouldn\u2019t have endured all that begging, all that degradation, for ten million promised by the Vales.\u00a0<\/p>\n
The weight of those years, every humiliation, every tear I shed believing I was nothing-crashed down on me.\u00a0<\/p>\n
My eyes burned. I bit my lip, trying to hold it in.\u00a0<\/p>\n
But it was too late.\u00a0<\/p>\n
The tears came anyway.\u00a0<\/p>\n
And all I could do was clutch his phone, shaking under the grief of everything I could\u2019ve been- and wasn\u2019t.\u00a0<\/p>\n
856\u00a0<\/p>\n
1\u00a0<\/p>\n
5\/5\u00a0<\/p>\n
16:29 Fri, Jan 2 \u2026\u00a0<\/p>\n
The Pack\u2019s Daughter\u00a0<\/p>\n
Joseph King is an editor and storyteller who ensures every chapter is clear, polished, and engaging for readers.<\/p>\n
Midnight Letters by Daniel Crowe 393 Chapter 393\u00a0 Riley\u2019s POV\u00a0 0:0\u00a0 &\u00a0 58\u00a0 Finished\u00a0 I looked at him, and there […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"site-sidebar-layout":"default","site-content-layout":"","ast-site-content-layout":"default","site-content-style":"default","site-sidebar-style":"default","ast-global-header-display":"","ast-banner-title-visibility":"","ast-main-header-display":"","ast-hfb-above-header-display":"","ast-hfb-below-header-display":"","ast-hfb-mobile-header-display":"","site-post-title":"","ast-breadcrumbs-content":"","ast-featured-img":"","footer-sml-layout":"","ast-disable-related-posts":"","theme-transparent-header-meta":"","adv-header-id-meta":"","stick-header-meta":"","header-above-stick-meta":"","header-main-stick-meta":"","header-below-stick-meta":"","astra-migrate-meta-layouts":"default","ast-page-background-enabled":"default","ast-page-background-meta":{"desktop":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-5)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"tablet":{"background-color":"","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"mobile":{"background-color":"","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""}},"ast-content-background-meta":{"desktop":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-4)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"tablet":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-4)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"mobile":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-4)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""}},"footnotes":""},"categories":[35],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-20667","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-pack-princess"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/kezpres.xyz\/novelreading\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20667","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/kezpres.xyz\/novelreading\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/kezpres.xyz\/novelreading\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/kezpres.xyz\/novelreading\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/kezpres.xyz\/novelreading\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=20667"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/kezpres.xyz\/novelreading\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20667\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/kezpres.xyz\/novelreading\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=20667"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/kezpres.xyz\/novelreading\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=20667"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/kezpres.xyz\/novelreading\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=20667"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}