The Miracle Luna
Fear pulsed through me like a second heartbeat.
“Don’t bother,” the same voice said.
I lifted my head slowly.
There he was. Sitting on a stool just across the room, hands resting calmly on his knees, like we were having a normal conversation. He wore all black—hood up, boots dusty. His face was mostly in shadow, but I could make out his smirk.
Then he spoke, his voice low and smooth like gravel dragged across velvet. “Now we’re alone, cutie pie.”
I froze.
Cutie pie?