The moon rose slow that night.
Not dramatic. Not blood-red. Not split by prophecy or pulled too close by power that had no business touching the sky.
It simply rose.
Silver over the ridge. Pale above the dark line of the trees. Quiet enough that most of the people in the yard barely looked up.
That was new.
Aria stood on the back steps with a damp dish towel in one hand and watched it clear the tops of the pines. The porch light behind her buzzed softly. Inside the house, someone laughed too hard at a joke that probably wasn't that funny. Plates clinked in the sink. A chair scraped across the floor.
No one fell silent when the moon appeared.
No one dropped to a knee.
No one lowered their head like the sky had just spoken and all they could do was obey.
The moon was still there.
It just wasn't a command anymore.
Aria let out a slow breath she hadn't known she was holding.
