Page 71 of Claimed By the Mothman

She smiled shyly. “Okay. Let’s walk.”

He did not reach for her as they walked from the community room to the elevator. Instead, he merely let her presence fill the air between him, warm and comforting and real.

Nell was beside him because she chose to be. For Sig Samora, that was enough. More than enough.

The elevator creaked gently around them. Neither of them spoke. She stood beside him, arms folded, head tilted slightly like she was listening for something beneath the hush.

When the doors opened on the fourteenth floor, she hesitated briefly, then followed him out.

He slowed as they reached his door. He was not quite ready to cross the threshold and to let go of the moment.

“So. This is your stop.”

He nodded, eyes flicking to her mouth. “Are you going back down?”

“Maybe for a minute.” She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “Just to say goodnight to everyone. Maybe make sure Theo hasn’t been carried off by the pixies.”

“Wise.”

She grinned. “And… probably best to leave before I drink more punch and find myself on your doorstep again.” A pause. “Possibly asking to climb you like a tree.”

A beat of stunned silence.

“I—wow, I said that again.”

“Would you like me to pretend you did not speak?” Sig asked, voice soft and sincere.

She looked up at him. Their eyes met. Something flared, sweet and sharp.

“No,” she whispered, a little breathless. “Just…don’t bring it up unless I do it again?”

His smile was slow. “Understood.”

They stood there, suspended. The space between them crackled, filled with everything unsaid. But instead of closing the gap, he instead reached for his door handle.

“Goodnight, Nell Townsend,” he said.

She lingered a second longer. “Goodnight, Sig Samora.”

He watched her go. Every step. Every swing of her dress. Every pulse of her presence as it faded down the hall.

And only then—only when she was truly gone—did he slip inside and shut the door behind him, holding his breath like a secret he wasn’t quite ready to let go.

Chapter 13

Nell practically glided into the library. Her heels clicked a confident rhythm across the linoleum, her hair was still soft from the curlers she’d worn the night before, and her shoulders were back, buoyed by something dangerously close to self-esteem.

“You’reglowing,” Goldie said suspiciously from behind the front desk.

“I’m allowed to glow,” Nell replied, breezing past with a swing of her hips. “I had a great time at the potluck. The lemonade had teeth, no one caused a metaphysical destabilization, and I didn’t drink myself stupid from the spiked punch bowl.”

Goldie narrowed her eyes. “You’re deflecting.”

“Oh, I’m not deflecting,” Nell said sweetly. “You’redeflecting. How was the end ofyournight? Did Ezra’s shirt somehow come unbuttoned? Were mystic rites invoked?”

Goldie’s smile was feline and unapologetic. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Nell cackled and sat down at her desk. Opening her planner, she began scribbling tasks for the day with more energy than she’d felt in weeks. Programming notes. RSVPs for the adult education series. An alert about next month’s blood drive. Her pen flowed easily across the page.