Rain still fell when Luna's shuttle touched down in the overgrown lot behind the Kane Building. Not hard—just a steady, gray drizzle that slicked the cracked pavement and turned the wild dandelions along the fence into drooping yellow stars.
She stepped out alone.
No fanfare. No escort. Just her, a damp tunic two sizes too small now, and the silver dampener band biting into her wrist like a cold reminder: Don't scare them.
Too late for that.
The front door of the building burst open before she'd taken five steps.
Scarlett stood there, wrapped in an old quilt, eyes wide. Behind her, Alexander leaned against the frame, arms crossed, face unreadable—but his knuckles were white.
They didn't run to her.
They just… stared.
Luna stopped ten feet away. Rain soaked her hair, plastered it to her neck. She didn't wipe it away.
"Mom," she said softly. "Dad."
