Chapter 4 — THE NIGHT BEFORE THE NIGHT (2)

"Good boy," Luna said, and ruffled his hair.

Gregory burst into fresh, streaming tears.

Note to self: this entire city runs on snack-based diplomacy.

That was when Jax arrived, with the energy of a man who had been dared to enter a building he knew was about to explode.

"Hey. Hi. Fun morning." Jax leaned in the doorway, grinning too wide. "We need to have a little roommate meeting. Real quick. Living situation. Boundaries."

"Boundaries," Luna said.

"Boundaries." Jax counted them off on his fingers. "One: the captain sits outside your door at night. That's non-negotiable. Two: he will continue to sit outside your door at night. That's also non-negotiable. Three—"

"There is no three," Kane said.

"Three is that I'm saying it out loud so it sounds like a meeting." Jax beamed. "Roommate meeting. Covered. Boundaries established."

Luna stared at him. "You drove here to tell me you're not going to stop stalking me."

"I drove here to tell you the stalking is now a relationship." Jax held up both hands. "Also the fridge. The captain restocked it. Don't look in the fridge. It's embarrassing."

Luna looked in the fridge.

It was full. Not just full — organized by her habit. The spicy chips on the left door, because she ate them standing up. The oat milk on the top shelf, because she hated bending over. A brand of mango sparkling water she hadn't had since she was sixteen, arranged in a neat little pyramid of six.

She closed the fridge slowly.

"Jax," she said.

"Yeah?"

"How long have you guys been watching me."

Jax's grin did a slow, horrified slide off his face. "Uh."

"Don't answer that," Kane said.

"Too late, you already told her not to," Jax said. "That's a tell. That's — I just gave away the whole case. I'm gonna go. Intel is done. Probation is over. I'm leaving before I say something worse." He backed out the door, pointing at Gregory. "You. Chips. Outside. Now."

"Can I finish my chip—"

"Outside."

The door closed. Silence settled back over the apartment. Luna stood in front of the fridge with her arms crossed. Kane sat at the table like a man awaiting sentencing.

"Talk," she said.

"About what."

"About the pyramid of sparkling water. About why you know I'm bending-over-averse. About the fact that Jax just told me not to answer a question and somehow that answered it."

Kane picked up a mug. Turned it. Set it down. "You moved into the Hayes foster house when you were nine."

Luna went very still.

"Since when," she said, flat.

"Since nine."

"Nine." Her voice didn't shake. She was proud of that. "You've been watching me since I was nine."

"I wasn't watching you." He said it fast, the fastest she'd ever heard him move on a sentence. "I was making sure you were alive. Different thing."

"It is not a different thing."

"It is the only thing." His gold eyes came up. "There are people who want you dead, Luna. There have been since the day you were born. I was the person between them and you. That's all."

That's all. She wanted to laugh. She wanted to throw the chips at his head. She settled for taking one out of the bag and eating it, slow, while he watched her like she might throw the bag instead.

"Three nights," she said.

"Three nights."

"Then what."

"Then the full moon."

"And the full moon is...?"

"Bad," he said.

Great. A weather report with two words. She opened her mouth to press him — she was building up a very good speech, the kind where she stood in kitchens and demanded answers like a person with rights — when her left wrist went hot.

Not warm. Hot. Like someone had pressed a lit match to the inside of her arm. She grabbed it. The crescent mark was glowing — silver light spilling up her veins, bright enough to see through her fingers.

Kane was on his feet in one motion. "Let me see."

"It's — it's burning—"

He took her wrist with incredible gentleness, the way you'd take a bird that flew into a window. The moment his fingers touched her skin, the heat spiked — and then, like a switch, died. The silver light dimmed back to a faint ghost under her skin.

They both stared at her wrist.

"What was that," Luna said.

Kane's throat moved. His gold eyes were fully up now, no longer flickering — steady, bright, and troubled in a way she couldn't read. "It reacts," he said slowly, "when I'm close."

"Why."

"I don't know."

That's the first honest thing you've said all week. She pulled her wrist back. The two of them stood there in the too-quiet kitchen, the chips bag open on the table, the fridge humming, and the morning light falling across a silver mark that had just decided to behave like a heartbeat.

Luna reached her own conclusion. She picked up her notebook, flipped to a fresh page, and wrote: