Eluna’s P.O.V.
Jackson stood beside me in the quiet hallway of the bed and breakfast, his gaze flickering between the photos on the wall and me, as if he still couldn't believe that the pictures on the wall had been taken by my hand. The soft light warmed the wood-paneled walls and turned my prints into something almost magical, like they belonged in a gallery instead of a sleepy town inn.
“These are incredible,” he said, his voice low, like it was meant just for me. I tried to laugh it off, arms crossed tight across my chest.
“Yeah, well. Incredible doesn't exactly get you anywhere in Fairview.”
He didn’t say anything at first. Just looked at me, brows drawn together like he was trying to solve some impossible puzzle. I didn’t blame him. I was a walking contradiction these days—wanti
