Chapter 2: The Book’s Cryptic Command

The world I live in is a supernatural fantasy set in another realm—a place where reality bends and the rules are rewritten. The colors here seem brighter, the shadows deeper, and every breeze carries whispers of magic.

From the Book of Fate, I know my identity: I’m the male lead’s unattainable ‘white moonlight,’ the older sister Autumn Hayes who once took a bullet for him before exiting the story midway. The label feels strange, like a crown I never asked for.

Beyond that, I know nothing. My memories are scattered, like puzzle pieces I can’t quite fit together.

As for clues to return home, the Book gave me only one cryptic line: “The key to going home is with the male lead.” The words ring in my head, haunting and elusive.

Following the Book’s guidance, I picked up the pale, frail, dying Marcus Blackwell at the edge of the academy grounds. He was barely conscious, his skin clammy, and his breath shallow as I dragged him out of the shadows.

The day I brought him back, he was burning with fever and unconscious. I sat beside him, counting his breaths, watching the rise and fall of his chest.

I stayed awake, watching over him for three days before he finally woke up. My eyelids felt gritty, and my mind blurred at the edges from exhaustion.

The moment he opened his bleary eyes and saw me, he pulled a small switchblade from his boot and pressed it to my neck. The cold metal stung, and my pulse raced as I stared him down, refusing to flinch.

To this day, a scar remains there—a pale line just below my jaw, a permanent reminder of our first encounter.

Marcus was always quiet, and his temper toward me especially foul. His words cut deeper than his blade, and his silences felt like storms gathering on the horizon.

I endured again and again, doing my best to please him so I could find a way home. Every day was a test, every kindness met with suspicion.

I traveled across fourteen states to find rare treatments for his ruined core. The highways blurred together, and every motel felt colder than the last.

Again and again, I took the most dangerous assignments from the trial committee, transforming from someone who couldn’t even kill a spider into the top scorer on the points board. The adrenaline never faded, and the fear became a constant companion.

All just to exchange for rare medicine to heal his broken body, day after day, for ten years without pause. The calendar pages turned, but my hope stayed stuck in place.

Yet his attitude toward me remained as stubborn and unpleasant as a stone in a gutter—unyielding, cold, impossible to move.

I told myself he was just naturally withdrawn. Maybe, like some of the pageant girls back in small-town Ohio, he wore his armor as a way to survive.

Until a month ago, when a new freshman joined the academy—Tessa Young. Her arrival was a storm, shaking up everything I thought I knew.

She was gifted and clever. As soon as she arrived, she quickly became, like Marcus, one of the dean’s most favored students. Her laughter filled the halls, and everyone leaned in when she spoke.

At that time, I’d just gone out of town for an assignment and didn’t know she existed. The world had shifted while I was gone.

When I returned, I found a sweet-faced, unfamiliar girl sitting on my bed. She wore my favorite sweater and looked at me with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Hello, white moonlight. I’m the heroine, Tessa.”

Her voice had a lilting confidence, like she already knew every secret in the room. Her smile was so perfectly rehearsed it reminded me of pageant girls back in small-town Ohio, all honey and knives. The way she said "white moonlight" made me feel like I was an old song playing on a jukebox, haunting but irrelevant. My throat tightened and my fists clenched, the words stinging more than I cared to admit.