The Underworld Trials of Luna
Laila asks, turning her head to peer at him, curious.
“The moons,” Orion says, nodding towards the darkness of the terrace. “Not in the right spot for this question.”
I snap my head to the side, peering out the window, trying to figure out where the moons are and what sort of bad configuration he’s talking about.
“Ohhh,” Laila says, nodding as she, too, looks outside. But then she turns back to me. “He’s right,” she says. “I didn’t think of that, but even at home you’d only ask certain questions at certain times of the day, or month, or year.” She points upwards at the ceiling and the cosmos beyond it. “Everything has to be lined up, or else you just get gibberish.”