I was sleepwalking, and Luna’s best friend, Beckett’s younger brother, a Cobalt, followed me out. His thin blue pajama bottoms and the white tee, molded against his muscles, makes me think he ran. He ran after me and didn’t even grab a fucking coat. Dark concern has washed away the bright mischief of Eliot. His uneasy breath smokes the air, cheeks pinker.
