THE REJECTED LUNA

HER

FIVE YEARS LATER

“Okay, eyes on me, grandpa’s moving again.”

Saskia tapped her earpiece, watching the security monitor mounted in the back of the nondescript surveillance van. On screen, Aldric, the elderly Crescent-city Alpha, was huffing his way out of the cardiologist’s office, his daughter-in-law fluttering anxiously beside him.

“I see him,” Leo’s calm voice came through the comm. He was posing as a driver for the black town car idling at the curb. “He looks pissed.”

“He’s always pissed,” Saskia muttered, zooming in on the sidewalk. A delivery bike was weaving too close and a man in a suit was loitering near the clinic’s ornamental bushes, checking his phone. She tracked them both, her fingers resting on the console. “Clear your side?”

“Clear. Just the usual. Woman with a stroller, two teens sharing earbuds, and a guy who really needs to learn how to parallel park.”

“Okay. Proceed.”

She watched as Leo smoothly intercepted Aldric, guiding him into the car with a polite nod. The loitering man glanced up, met Leo’s gaze, and quickly walked away. The bike messenger sped past seeing their plan going down the drain.

They rounded up and arrived back at the Shield Consortium’s underground garage, the van’s engine echoed off the concrete walls as she killed the ignition. Saskia and Leo went through the post-op drill in comfortable quiet, logging equipment, wiping down surfaces, filing the digital report until they were both sure the important part was done.

“Another thrilling chapter in the saga,” Leo said, slamming the rear doors shut. He pulled a protein bar from his pocket. “Lunch?”

“I’m good. Gotta drop the keys with Briggs.”

“Suit yourself.” He took a massive bite. “See you tomorrow. Maybe we’ll get a rogue shifter next time. Add some spice.”

Saskia just shook her head and headed for the elevator. She was halfway to the operations office when a voice cut through the hum of the air conditioning.

“Excuse me? Hey—wait!”

She slowed, turning around. A man in a slightly-too-tight suit was hurrying toward her, holding a lanyard with a visitor’s pass. He had the harried look of a sales rep who’d been kept waiting.

“Hi, sorry,” he said, puffing slightly. “I’m looking for the procurement office? The lady at the front desk said it was down this hall, but all these doors look the same…”

She pointed a thumb over her shoulder. “Two doors back on your left. Sign says ‘Logistics.’”

“Oh! Great, thanks.” He started to turn, then paused, his eyes narrowing as they focused on her face. A strange, puzzled smile appeared. “You know, you look… really familiar. Have we met? I used to work with a security firm up in Broward. Are you from around there?”

Here we go. Saskia kept her expression politely blank. “I don’t think so.”

“No, seriously.” He snapped his fingers. “Moira! That’s it. You look just like a Moira I knew a few years back. She was… well, she was in a different kind of outfit. More of a private community up north. Blackwood? You ever heard of it?”

Moira...

“Common name, and no, I’m not from up north. It’s probably just one of those faces.”

His confident smile faltered, replaced by a flush of embarrassment. “Right. Yeah, of course. Sorry. Just… spitting image. Weird.” He gave an awkward little wave with his visitor pass. “Thanks for the directions.”

He scurried off toward Logistics. Saskia released a deep breath she didn't know she was holding and completed her walk to the ops office, handed the van keys to the clerk, and walked back out through the lobby. She slipped on a pair of sunglasses and started the five-block walk to the parking garage where she kept her personal car.

She was unlocking the chain from her tires when a shadow fell across her.

“If it isn’t the woman of my dreams.”

Finn.

He was leaning against a support pillar, holding two takeout cups. He was dressed for a yacht party he'll probably never board—linen shirt, expensive shades pushed up into his hair.

“Well, you need to wake up,” She said, drawing the car open.

“Heartless much.” He pushed off the pillar and held out one of the cups. “Iced coffee. Black. Because I pay attention.”

She looked at the cup, then at his expectant face. With a sigh, she took it. The condensation was cold against her palm. “Thanks.”

“Progress!” he declared, sipping his own drink. It was probably some absurd, sugary concoction. “So, protect any dignitaries today? Foil any assassinations?”

“I watched an old man get a sonogram.”

“The glamour never ends.” He fell into step beside her as she drove the car slowly out of the garage toward the exit. “Listen, I’m having a thing at my place on Friday. Just a few people, you know. Music, food, me. You should come.”

“I have a thing.”

“Do you? Or is ‘a thing’ just you, your car, and that terrifyingly empty apartment?”

She stopped driving and looked at him over the top of her sunglasses. “Why are you like this?”

“Like what?” he said, his grin not fading. “I'm being sweet. So? Friday?”

“No, Finn.”

He shrugged, utterly unaffected. “Alright. The offer stands. The coffee was a bribe, by the way, but you don’t have to give it back.” He tapped her side mirror. “Drive safe, Volkov. Try not to think about me.”

He sauntered off toward his own car, a low-slung convertible that cost more than her annual salary. She watched him go for a second, then shook her head, fastened her seatbelt, and started the car, driving off.