Page 64

"Now tell me about your family," she says, voice dropping lower.

I go still, napkin twisted between my fingers.

Her voice softens, but her eyes remain sharp. "Luna. What the hell happened with Genevieve?"

I swallow hard, the simple question reopening wounds I've been trying to ignore.

The sunlight feels too warm now. The wind too sharp against my skin. The sky too perfectly blue for what's about to come out of my mouth.

I meet her eyes across the table, steeling myself.

"You know I wasn't supposed to have that invitation," I begin, my voice steadier than I feel. "But there's more to that story than I told you."

"Oh, wonderful," Avery says, her voice dripping with sugar-laced venom. "And here I thought lunch was going to be boring."

I shift in my seat, avoiding her gaze. "You asked."

"I did. I also assumed you wouldn't open with discussing felonies, but hey—what do I know?" She leans back, crossing her arms. "Though with you, I probably should have expected it."

I swirl my straw through the melting ice, watching the water patterns rather than facing her. "Genevieve gave me her invitation. She knew I needed to escape."

"That part I didn't figure," Avery says, lifting one perfectly arched brow. "But go on—I sense there's a lot more to this story than just borrowing an invitation."

My fingers tighten around the glass. "She didn't want to go to the Hunt. Said the whole thing was barbaric."

"Luna." The way she says my name—soft, stretched, curious—makes me feel like I'm being scrutinized.

"Our parents were thrilled she received the invitation," I continue, voice quieter now. "A perfect opportunity for someone her age. But Gen..." I pause, remembering her face when she handed it to me. "She knew what they were doing to me. With Christopher."

Avery leans forward, eyes widening slightly. "So she just gave you her ticket out?"

"She said no woman deserves to be 'claimed' and put on a leash," I explain, the memory still fresh. "But she also knew I needed to escape. That Christopher was getting worse."

Avery exhales slowly, taking this in. "And you went in her place."

"I did," I confirm. "I figured they wouldn't pick me anyway. I'm not what they want—obedient, elegant, or easy. I thought I could avoid being caught, win the money, and disappear for good."

"But instead, you caught the attention of Beckett Sinclair,"Avery observes, drumming her fingers on the table. "The one man even Christopher would be afraid of."

I nod, unable to suppress the slight shiver that runs through me at the mention of Beckett's name. "I never expected him to notice me. To claim me before the Hunt even started."

"What about Genevieve now? Won't she be in trouble for missing the Hunt?"

"We had a story ready. That she'd fallen ill suddenly. No one questions a sick woman." I push my glass away, ice long melted.

Avery doesn't blink. Doesn't pretend to be surprised. "And Christopher?" she asks, his name landing between us like poison in a wine glass.

My fingers tighten involuntarily around my drink. "I could feel him," I whisper. "Even when he wasn't there. He had a way of… sticking to the air. Like smoke. Or rot."

"So you ran."

"I escaped," I correct her. "Genevieve gave me the chance, and I took it. I never thought I'd end up in Beckett Sinclair's world instead."

Avery leans back, studying me with that terrifying, all-knowing gaze she's perfected over the years.

"And then what? You crash-landed into the arms of a six-foot plus menace with a god complex and a jawline that could slice steel?"

I blink. "That… is disturbingly accurate."