The storm outside had settled into a steady, grey drizzle. Inside the lighthouse, the mood was deceptively calm.
Alex was at the stove, frying bacon in a cast-iron skillet. The smell was heavenly—grease, salt, and comfort.
"Eat up," Alex grunted, sliding a plate of eggs and bacon toward me. "You look like a stiff breeze could blow you over. A Luna needs meat on her bones."
I smiled gratefully, taking a bite. "Thanks, Alex. It’s delicious."
Caleb was sitting opposite me, cleaning his gun (again). He was watching the ocean through the window, his knee bouncing nervously under the table. Even in a safe house, he couldn't relax.
Leo was sitting in a makeshift high chair (Alex had stacked some encyclopedias on a regular chair). He was currently fighting a losing battle with a piece of
