Page 14

Fourteen

MOON

She hesitated.

That was all it took.

Sun’s influence had already sunk into her, curling around her mind like golden vines. But hesitation? That was mine.

I felt it the moment it happened—her fingers pausing over her phone, her breath catching just slightly. A sliver of doubt. A crack in her resolve. That was all the space I needed to slip in.

And Sun? Oh, he was furious.

“She was thinking about him,” he hissed, his voice bleeding through the tether that bound us. “That worthless, pathetic excuse for a man.”

I breathed in slow and cold, shadows curling tighter around me. Sun was fire—volatile and bright and hungry. But me? I was the dark between stars. And darkness doesn’t rush.

“She’s ours, Moon,” Sun growled, his frustration thrumming hot through the link. “And I won’t let him corrupt her.”

I smiled, slow and cold. “Then let me have him.”

Sun stilled. He didn’t need to ask what I meant. He already knew.

And this Caleb? He was already mine.

Caleb drifted off the way tired men do—mouth slightly open, thoughts half-finished, unaware he’d just invited something ancient into the dark.

I slipped in like smoke. Quiet. Cold. Unseen.

Dreams are funny things. So fragile. So porous. I didn’t need to knock. I walked right through the gaps.

The room I gave him was familiar. His own apartment, low-lit and still. Air heavy. Off, like a thunderstorm pressing behind the walls. He sat on the edge of the bed, scrolling absently through his phone. The pale light etched hollows into his face, turning his skin waxy, his eyes dull.

A message thread glowed on the screen.

Dawn’s name at the top.

His thumb hovered over the keyboard, hesitating. Wondering if he should say more. If she was thinking of him.

The screen glitched.

Not wildly. Not enough to scream dream.

Just… wrong.

The letters slid, pixelated, rearranged themselves into something the human mind would never admit to seeing.

You shouldn’t have touched her.

He blinked. Rubbed his eyes.

The message was back to normal.

A lie he wanted to believe.

I grinned.

“Caleb,” I whispered. Not loud. Not harsh. Just enough.

He froze.

Didn’t breathe. Didn’t blink.

The air shifted. Grew cold and thick.

His head snapped up. “Who’s there?”

I let the shadows answer first. A ripple across the ceiling. A breath down the back of his neck.

Then I stepped into the room—not with feet, but with presence. I unfurled. I took shape only because he needed me to. Tall. Wrong. My silver eyes catching the dim light and throwing it back at him like a threat he couldn’t name.

His body knew what his mind didn’t.

Terror bloomed.

“You’re afraid,” I said softly. “Good.”

He backed away, breath coming fast, eyes wide.

“This isn’t real,” he said, because that’s what they always say.

I took another step. Shadows followed.

“You think you know what real is?” I asked, voice low and velvety. “Tell me, Caleb… what exactly do you want from her?”

He shook his head, mute with panic.

“Attention? Affection?” My head tilted. “You think that little smile she gave you was for you ?”

He choked. Tried to speak. Failed.

I stepped closer.

“You don’t understand what she is.”

He hit the wall. Hard. Heart hammering so loud I could taste it.

“Let me be clear,” I whispered. “She’s not for you.”

He didn’t scream. Not yet.

I slid into his mind.

No resistance. No defense. Just a man with soft edges and selfish thoughts and a fantasy he dared to believe could be real.

I found her in there—his memory of her. Warm. Beautiful. Laughing at something he said.

How sweet.

How fucking deluded.

“You thought you had a chance,” I said gently.

And then I took the air from his lungs.

He buckled, eyes bulging, hands clawing at his throat.

“You don’t need to breathe,” I reminded him, crouching beside him like a lover. “Not here.”

He collapsed. Helpless. Pathetic.

I leaned in.

“You’ll forget this,” I said. “Most of it. But not the fear. Not the sense that you were watched. Judged. Marked.”

I pressed my hand to his chest. Left a piece of shadow behind. A splinter of me.

“You’ll never touch her again.”

He convulsed—then gasped awake, drenched in sweat, heartbeat a snare drum beneath his skin.

The room was normal.

But he wasn’t.

He lay there, shaking, staring at the ceiling like it might peel back and swallow him whole.

He’d call it a dream.

But shadows?

Shadows don’t visit.

We linger .