"The shadow man comes when the leaves turn gold."
I looked up from Luna's birthday cake—chocolate with strawberries, because apparently one-year-olds have sophisticated taste preferences—to find my daughter staring out the window with an expression far too serious for someone who'd just blown out a single candle.
"What shadow man, sweetheart?"
Luna pointed toward Central Park, where October had painted the trees in brilliant oranges and reds. "The one who smells like old sadness and new anger. He brings the scary quiet."
Alexander and I exchanged glances across the dining room table. Over the past year, Luna's abilities had continued evolving in ways that kept Dr. Chen busy rewriting her development charts. But this was new.
"Luna," I said carefully, "are you talking about something that happened, or something that's going to happen?"
"Going to happen. Three sleeps from now."
"Three days?"
"When Papa has the big meeting with the suit people."
