Christmas lights blinked like they were trying too hard to convince the world everything was fine.
Red. Green. Gold. Hope packaged in glass bulbs and plastic stars, taped onto a city that bled just as beautifully as it celebrated. Somewhere down the street, a speaker crackled out a warped version of Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas, the singer’s voice stretched thin like it had been through too much already.
I stood by the window of the safehouse, watching snow threaten to fall but never quite commit. Figures. Even the sky didn’t trust this season.
Behind me, Luna slept.
Or tried to.
I could tell by the way her breathing kept changing rhythm, like her dreams were pacing instead of resting. She always did that when she was exhausted but alert—when her body shut down before her mi
