Snow gathers in her hair as she waits for my answer.
Her eyes—glassy, trembling, desperate to believe me—search my face like she’s trying to hold on to the version of me she knew before tonight. The safe version. The one who hid behind boardrooms and polished lies.
But that man is dead.
Something darker rose the moment the gun touched her.
And she can feel it.
I shift her gently in my arms, tightening the grip that’s half possession, half terror. My breath clouds in the frozen air. “Luna,” I say quietly, “please don’t ask me that right now.”
Her lips part, a small exhale of betrayal slipping out. “So there is something.”
I close my eyes for a second. Just one second. Long enough to hear the echo of my own conscience cracking. “There are things I can’t tell you yet,” I say. “Not unti
