Moonlight

Chapter 2: At Tropicana

The rain started at 1:40am.

Steph noticed it from the window of her office on the 7th floor. Uyo looked different when it was wet. Cleaner. Quieter. Like the city was finally done performing for the day.

She should’ve gone home two hours ago. There was a brief to finish. A deposition at 9am. Her partner’s email that said _“Don’t burn out, Cole”_ that she was ignoring.

Instead she grabbed her camera, her black hoodie, and her other name.

“Kimmie” didn’t have a brief. “Kimmie” had sand in her shoes and a rule: one photo, once a month, when the moon was full.

The Tropicana was empty at this hour. The rides were still. The fountains were off because of the rain. Security made two rounds and then disappeared into the booth to watch Nollywood on low volume.

Perfect.

Steph set up by the big fountain. The water was glass-smooth, catching the moon and the string lights above. She wanted the shot where the city felt like it was holding its breath.

Click.

Too bright.

Click.

Too dark.

“Those lights will mess with your exposure.”

Steph didn’t jump. She never jumped. But her shoulders did that thing they did when someone caught her off guard.

She turned.

A man in a dark security uniform. Late 20s. Early 30s. Flashlight in one hand, not pointed at her. Umbrella in the other, though he wasn’t using it. Rain on his shoulders like he’d been walking.

He wasn’t looking at her camera. He was looking at the fountain. Like he’d seen this shot before.

“You work here?” Steph asked. Voice low. Neutral. “Kimmie” didn’t do small talk.

“Guard,” he said. “You?”

“Photographer.”

He nodded once. “The exposure. The fountain lights are tungsten. If you drop your ISO and slow your shutter, you’ll get the reflection without the glare.”

Steph stared. Most people said _“Are you supposed to be here?”_

This one gave her camera advice.

She adjusted. ISO 200. Shutter down.

Click.

The photo came out exactly how she’d imagined it. Moon, water, lights, all of it holding still.

“Huh,” she said. “Thanks, Guard.”

He almost smiled. “Huh. Thanks, Photographer.”

Silence. Comfortable. The kind that doesn’t need filling.

Rain on the roof. Distant generator hum.

“You’re here a lot,” he said finally. Not an accusation. A fact.

“Once a month,” Steph said. “Full moon.”

“You like the night better?”

She should’ve lied. “Kimmie” didn’t explain herself.

But something about the way he wasn’t pushing made her answer.

“Daytime asks too many questions,” she said.

He got that. She could tell.

“Daytime has expectations,” he said. “Names. Jobs. Who your father is.”

Steph’s grip tightened on the camera. “That a problem for you?”

“Only when I remember it,” he said. Then, like he was changing the subject: “You want to see the view from the top of the Ferris wheel? Power’s off. It won’t move. But the view is... yeah.”

It was illegal. It was stupid. It was exactly what “Kimmie” would do.

“Lead the way, Guard.”

They didn’t talk on the way up the stairs. The whole park was below them now. Uyo spread out, wet and glowing. From up here you couldn’t see the traffic or the politics or the emails. You could just see light.

He stood a careful distance away. Close enough to talk, far enough to not assume.

“My brother used to bring me here,” he said out of nowhere. “When we were kids. Before... before all the board meetings.”

Steph didn’t ask. People who needed you to ask weren’t safe at 2am.

“My sister hated heights,” she said instead. “I had to ride everything twice.”

Another silence. Easier this time.

He glanced at her camera. “You post those?”

“Sometimes.”

“Under what name?”

“Kimmie.”

He tested it. “Kimmie.”

She tested his back. “Guard.”

They both almost laughed.

The moon moved a little. A cloud passed over it and the whole park dimmed.

“You should go,” he said. “Before my supervisor does rounds.”

“Before my real life remembers I have one,” she answered.

She packed up. He walked her to the gate but didn’t walk her out. That was the rule, apparently. No names. No numbers. No daylight.

“Same time next month?” he asked at the gate.

“If the moon’s out,” she said.

He nodded. “I’ll be on rounds.”

Steph walked to her car in the rain. Dry under her hoodie. Camera safe in her bag.

In the car, before she drove off, she checked the photo.

It was perfect.

And in the corner, barely in focus, was a silhouette. A man with a flashlight, looking out at the water instead of at her.

She almost deleted it.

She didn’t.

At 6am her alarm went off.

Steph Cole showered, put on her suit, and went to win a case.

By 9am she was Steph again. Sharp. Untouchable.

But at 2:17am, for twenty minutes, she’d been Kimmie.

And someone named Guard had seen her.

She didn’t know his name.

She didn’t want to.

That was the whole point.

Right?