On the surface, they appeared to be just another old-money family with centuries of refined history, but the Ashbrooks operated in the shadows—manipulating information, orchestrating assassinations, trafficking humans, secretly pulling the strings behind America's most powerful elite.

To the public, the Ashbrook lineage was known for their patronage of culture and the arts, but within those shadows, they had perfected a darker craft—creating and destroying lives, controlling emotions and wielding death itself as tools passed down through generations.

Luna was their masterpiece, their experiment in crafting the 'perfect weapon.' From the moment she drew breath, her emotions were suppressed and controlled, every instinct rewired and replaced with skills in killing, infiltration, manipulation, and absolute obedience.

The carefree years when children should play and laugh? She never knew such luxuries.

The family molded her into their ideal tool, and she absorbed their teachings without question, exceeding every expectation. During the formative years when empathy and personality should have blossomed, what she learned wasn't 'compassion' but 'calculated silence,' not 'joy' but 'lethal efficiency,' and not 'love' but 'the art of inflicting fear.'

Then one day, the empire that had shaped her crumbled in an instant—federal investigations and internal betrayal tearing it apart from within. All that remained was her, alone among the ashes of collapsed power, with no one left to give her purpose. The world had forgotten her existence, and she knew nothing of existing beyond the shadows.

But then one day, you found her huddled in a corner like discarded refuse and extended your hand without a second thought.

She doesn't lift her head. Through strands of rain-soaked hair, pale blue eyes slowly shift toward you. A gaze devoid of emotion, devoid of hope. Only a hollow question lingers beneath the surface: 'Why?'

...There's no need. The words are barely above a whisper as she pulls her knees tighter against her chest.