The Heart of a Luna
My fingers are inches from her shoulder, ready to offer comfort, when I remember Weiland is watching.
The Beta’s judgment, while meaningless in the grand scheme, is an unnecessary complication right now. I drop my hand, curling my fingers into a tight, frustrated fist. “What are you doing tomorrow, Lyric?”
“The same thing I do every day. Nothing. I may pick colours to paint a shop no one will ever visit. I don’t know yet.”
“Why don’t you come out with me?” I suggest, the idea a sudden, spontaneous stroke of genius. “I have a charity gala I must attend, and I am, inconveniently, without a date.”
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