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And then she steps inside.
Slow, like she’s walking into a trap she already owns. Her head tilts, that wicked little smirk blooming in the corner of her mouth. She doesn’t speak, not right away. Just looks at us—between us—like she’s not sure whether to laugh or light us both on fire.
“You two…” she finally says, eyes narrowed, “are absolute idiots.”
She’s not wrong.
Silas grins wider. “I call this one ‘Sunset Over Sinful Peaks.’” He flexes again—harder. Abs of vengeance.
“Oh yeah?” I counter, shifting slightly to give her my side angle. “This one’s ‘Tragic Orphan With a Six Pack.’"
Luna snorts.
It’s adorable. And unfair. And it hits me right in the solar plexus.
Because she’s not just beautiful. She’s the kind of dangerous that sneaks up on you. Soft voice, sharp mind, magic curled under her skin like sleeping snakes—and when she looks at me, really looks, like she’s doing now… gods, it unmoors something in me.
“I came to see if either of you were hungry,” she says, voice carefully neutral, “but clearly, you’re full. Of yourselves.”
Silas gasps, wounded. “Luna. That was savage. I'm almost proud.”
I should say something. Something clever. Instead, I blurt, “You look good.”
Silence.
She blinks at me. Her lips twitch. “I haven’t even brushed my hair.”
“I know,” I say, before my brain catches up. “I mean—not like I’m stalking you, or watching you sleep, or—okay. I’ll just. Shut up.”
Silas makes a noise like a dying dolphin.
Luna steps closer. “You watch me sleep?”
Fuck.
Abort mission.
“I watch everyone sleep,” I say too quickly. “It’s a… surveillance tactic. Military-grade. Very official.”
“Mm-hmm,” she hums. But there’s that glint in her eye now. Like she knows. Like she always knows. “Well, soldier, try not to pull anything while you’re flexing for surveillance.”
Then she walks away.
And I’m left staring at the door, heart pounding, face warm, still shirtless, still flexing.
Silas pats my shoulder solemnly. “Next time, lead with the abs. Not the confession.”
Shit.
“How bad was it?” I ask without looking at him, still patting down every surface like I’m defusing a bomb with my bare hands. My shirt has clearly sprouted legs and joined the resistance. Coward.
Silas doesn't even pretend to lie. “Well… you did insinuate stalker vibes.”
I groan. “No, I didn’t.”
“You did.” He tosses something at me. My shirt. Traitor.
“Fuck.” I yank it on. Backward. Realize it. Rip it off. Flip it. Try again. My arms don’t work. “I panicked.”