SAVING ALPHA THORNE: THE MOONBOUND PACT

~IAN~

If exhaustion had a face, it would be mine.

Evening had settled like a heavy cloak over Barry’s Bakery House, and I was still at my station, hands buried deep in soft dough, rolling out yet another batch of doughnut rings on the chilled counter. The hum of the ovens, the scent of yeast and sugar - it should have been comforting after a long day. But all I could think about was my aching back and how desperately I needed my bed.

“Just a few more minutes,” I whispered to no one, knuckles pressing into the dough. “Then I’m free.”

My body ached with the kind of weariness that seeps into the bones - raw, quiet, merciless. Even the simple act of stretching the dough felt like lifting a boulder.

Sleep. Food. Silence. That was all I craved.

Then the door slammed open.

Samantha stormed into the room like a firecracker in heels. “Everyone stop working. Now. Mr. Barry’s downstairs. He wants to see everyone immediately.”

No greeting. No explanation. Just that clipped tone she always used - like we were ants under her shoe.

She turned to leave, but not before her eyes slid over me. Cold. Calculating. Like she knew something I didn’t.

A strange chill crept down my spine. My hands paused mid-knead.

Why did she look at me like that?

The rest of the bakers grumbled as they untied aprons and pushed away from the counters. I heard a few curse under their breath. No one liked being ordered around by Samantha - especially when we were so close to clocking out.

I followed them, tension knotting in my stomach. As I passed Brenda’s station, she lifted her head, brushing flour from her hands. Her gaze met mine - steady, smug. A faint, almost serpentine smile curved her lips.

Something about it sent a ripple through my chest.

No. That wasn’t just smugness. That was satisfaction.

"What the hell are you so satisfied about, Brenda?" I thought.

I tried to shake it off. Focus. She’s not worth it. Just go down there, listen to whatever Barry has to say, and get out.

But a thought clawed its way to the surface - the video. I just couldn't stop thinking about it.

Suddenly, the pieces didn’t feel so far apart. The video. Brenda. Her smile. Samantha’s look. The heaviness in the air.

Something was wrong.

I quickly washed the flour from my arms, untied my apron, and hung it neatly on the hook. The room emptied around me. Silence returned, but not the peace I wanted.

By the time I reached the front hall, everyone had gathered.

And there he was - Mr. Barry. Our boss. His normally polished face was dark with fury, pacing the tiled floor like a man ready to explode. Each slap of his fist into his open palm cracked through the tension like a whip.

The unease in my gut twisted tighter.

“What’s going on?” I muttered.

And then...

“WHERE