The False Luna
“Seeing the scene, I imagine I arrived at the right time.”
Valentina raised her glass in a small toast, her eyes following my movements as if cataloging flaws. “You arrived just as the house decided to remember that real food heals wounds better than speeches.”
“And speeches, sometimes, prevent wounds from opening,” I replied, still smiling. “We are very close to the Moon Festival. I need people who are fed, rested, and proud of where they stand.”
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