Page 56 of Claimed By the Mothman

“Hot oven?” Ezra guessed.

Goldie bared imaginary fangs, did one slow, seductive air-lean, and mimed brooding into the middle distance like a man whose every thought was a sad guitar riff.

“Goldie,” Nell gasped. “Is itTwilight?”

Goldie struck a final pose of tortured celibacy.

“It’s Twilight,” Nell confirmed. “Please stop.”

Goldie bowed in acquiescence. Ezra howled with glee. “This is the best night of my life.”

Sig, who had been watching with the polite bafflement of someone observing a complex mating ritual, tilted his head. “Is this the one with the sparkles?”

“Yes,” Nell said solemnly. “And the trauma.”

“My turn!” Jem sprang to her feet like she’d just been called into battle. She grabbed a slip from the bowl, read it with a smirk, and cracked her knuckles like a woman with a plan.

The moment the timer started, she went into motion—shoulders hunched, hands curled into claws, her whole body vibrating with eerie commitment.

“Werewolf!” Carol shouted.

Jem shook her head and dropped to all fours, crawling in a circle before throwing her head back and miming an anguished scream.

“A banshee?” Hollis guessed.

She pointed wildly at Hollis, then mimed drinking something and immediately recoiling like she’d swallowed lava.

“Hot sauce ghost?” Dev tried.

Jem leapt to her feet, arms flailing, then made a comically exaggerated boom gesture and mimed a body flying backward.

“Poltergeist!” Hollis yelled again.

“Yes!” Jem whooped, flinging her arms in the air as the timer buzzed right on cue. “Team One: two. Team Two:finallyone.”

Round Three began with Sig. He rose with a slow, almost ceremonial grace. The bowl looked absurdly small beneath his clawed hands, but he selected a slip with delicate care. He clicked as he read it.

The timer began. At first, he stood perfectly still.

“Is that it?” Ezra stage-whispered. “Is the answermothman in repose?”

Sig moved. He extended one arm slowly, fingers curved, as if cradling something delicate in his palm. With the other, he mimed twisting something. His wings twitched once behind him, a flicker of concentration. He bent at the waist, brought his face close to the invisible object in his hand, and made a minuscule adjustment—then another.

“Is it... a ritual?” Goldie guessed, biting her lip.

“A librarian?” Ezra tried.

“No, it’s—it’s something careful,” Nell said, watching him with narrowed eyes.

Sig lifted both hands now and mimed fitting tiny items, one after another, snapping them gently into place. He made a slow, circular gesture with his fingers, like winding something tight.

“Music box?” Ezra tried again. “Surgery? I bet it’s surgery.”

Sig shook his head once, slowly. He crouched, drew an invisible ring in the air, then delicately traced markings along its edge with his fingertip. Ezra looked like he was about to guess again when Nell suddenly leaned forward.

“It’s…balance,” she said. “Or no—threading a needle?”

Sig looked up sharply at that. Met her eyes. Tilted his head.