The hallway light flickered, casting long, skeletal shadows across the peeling wallpaper of the apartment building. Ethan stood in the doorway, his hand white-knuckled on the brass knob. He looked down at the expensive white bakery box in James’s hands, then back up at the boy who had spent half his life making Ethan feel like dirt and the other half making him feel like he was the only person in the world.
"What are you doing here, James?" Ethan’s voice was a low, defensive rasp. "It’s ten o’clock at night. How did you even get past the buzzer?"
James tilted his head, a single lock of dark hair falling over his eyes. He looked tired—not just sleepy, but exhausted in a way that seemed to reach his very bones. The remnants of the red moon's drain were still visible in the slight slump of
