One Day Before the Show
Artemis POV
She was humming.
A soft, tuneless murmur as she stood over the stove, stirring something bright and fragrant. I paused at the kitchen threshold, letting the scene hold me. Steam curled up from a pan; sunlight cut pale bars across the marble; my old white button-down hung loose on her, sleeves rolled twice, collar careless. Bare feet, damp hair. Calm.
Luna never cooked. She commissioned. She micromanaged. She graded the staff like a judge with a pen poised to strike. She didn’t hum—she performed.
The woman at my stove… didn’t perform. She didn’t even glance up to see if I was watching, which is how I knew she felt safe for one small, stolen minute.
“Meeting ended early,” I said, stepping in.
She spun, smile catching—real before it turned careful. “
