The soft glow of the moon-shaped nightlight cast gentle shadows across Luna's bedroom. The day's tensions, so thick and heavy in the rest of the house, seemed to shrink in this small, peaceful space. Aria sat on the edge of her daughter's bed, an open storybook resting on her lap, but her mind was miles away—in the Oval Office, in the fractured dining room, in the digital trenches of a global propaganda war.
"Mommy," Luna's small voice cut through the static in Aria's mind. She was tucked under her comforter, her silver eyes wide and serious in the dim light. "Why is everyone so loud?"
Aria sighed, closing the book she hadn't really been reading. "What do you mean, sweetheart?"
"The grown-ups," Luna clarified, her tiny brow furrowed. "Grandma Elena and Grandpa Marcus. They were loud at dinner. Their words felt… pointy."
