|Luna Moore|
The waves crash lazily against the rocky shore, their rhythmic lull a stark contrast to the chaos we left behind. The air here is different—cleaner, lighter—free from the weight of sirens, of Knox's shadow, of everything that nearly swallowed us whole.
But even as I stare at the endless stretch of blue before me, the unease lingers.
I shift in the lounge chair on our villa's terrace, watching Aurelia as she stands at the balcony's edge, arms crossed, gaze fixed on the horizon. Her golden-brown skin is kissed by the Mediterranean sun, her hair slightly tousled from the salty breeze. She looks every bit like she belongs here.
And yet, she hasn't smiled since we arrived.
Our escape had been swift, orchestrated with the kind of efficiency that only money and power could buy.
