Luna knew before I told her.
This was not surprising. Luna knew most things before they were formally communicated to her — through the bond, through her specific gift for reading rooms, through the particular intelligence of someone who had been paying close attention to everyone around her for her entire life.
She found me the morning after the study conversation.
She sat on my kitchen counter.
She had no chart.
This was unusual enough to be alarming.
"No documentation?" I said.
"This one isn't for documenting," she said.
I turned from the stove.
She looked at me with the direct version — no banter covering it, no rapid-fire speed. Just Luna, looking at me the way she looked at things when she had decided they mattered enough for the full weight of her attention.
"The weight of
