CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
I'm flipping through a bridal magazine, the pages crinkled at the edges from constant thumbing. Logan’s sitting across from me, his forehead creased with the concentration of a strategist planning a battle rather than a wedding. He's always been like that—headstrong but kind. His brown eyes catch the dim light in the room, giving them an almost golden hue that never fails to draw me in.
"Outdoor or indoor?" he asks, breaking our comfortable silence. I glance up from a photograph of a white gazebo adorned with flowers.
"Outdoor," I reply without hesitation. "Under the moonlight." It's fitting for us, children of the night, bound by the same lunar pull that governs our shifts.
"Good choice," he smiles, reaching over to take my hand. His fingers are warm and reassuring
