I opened the door.
Luna stood on the threshold in her human shape—barefoot on the penthouse stone, amethyst hair braided over one shoulder, golden eyes steady as late sun on warm rock. She always brings the weather in with her; the air smelled like the first drop before a storm.
"Welcome home," I said.
Her mouth softened. "May I come in?"
"You never have to ask," I answered, and stepped aside.
Five pairs of eyes found her at once.
Rose set her glass down, relief flickering through the practical calm she wears for me. Reika's hands went still on a dish towel, posture tightening, then easing by will. Cecilia straightened by a quiet centimeter—the way she does when someone she respects enters the room. Rachel's grin tilted, halfway between I told you so and it's good to see you. Seraphina didn't move at all, which is how she shows attention: statue-still, eyes alert.
