Page 59 of My Vigilante Valentine

dazzled

I adjusted my tie for the tenth time, staring at my reflection in the mirror with the kind of intensity usually reserved for myothernighttime activities.

That is, the ones where I wore the hood and prowled the streets in the same of outside-the-law justice.

This? This was something else entirely.

The black suit felt foreign after years of hoodies and tactical gear, but Luna had insisted we go all out for our first official “date” at one of Slate Harbor’s most romantic restaurants.

Her words, not mine.

Though, I had to admit, she wasn’t wrong about the location. The Valentine Villain’s victims had all been seen at places just like this—upscale spots where couples went to celebrate their love.

Perfect bait, even if the thought of using Luna that way made my stomach turn.

Hence, the fact that I was armed tonight. I’d hidden several throwing knives in specially designed pockets of my jacket. No swords tonight—those didn’t exactly mesh with formal wear—but I had enough blades to handle any trouble that might come our way.

And then, you know, I had my “powers,” too.

She still used that word every chance she could. It was officially February now—Love Month, according to Luna, and we’d spent the first week of our fake relationship slowly getting used to our new dynamics.

Our newteamdynamics.

I still did the random street-cleaning takedowns by myself because the idea of Luna or Chris in the field was laughable. But for research, tech upgrades, and even just bouncing ideas around? I had to admit, we weren’t off to a bad start.

My phone buzzed on the dresser.

Luna: I hope tonight goes better than it did in my dream last night.

I stared at the screen, trying to figure out what she meant by that. But before I got too far down a hole that I wouldn’t be able to claw my way out of, another text came through.

Luna: Sorry, long story short, I had a dream last night that the VV shot a fireball from his hands right into the restaurant and we died. End scene.

I couldn’t help but smile, even as I fired back what I hoped was a reassuring response.

Me: If it helps, I don’t think The Villain can shoot fireballs from his hands.

Luna: It’s not his usual MO, but who knows? You have hidden powers. Why can’t he?

My thumb hovered over the keyboard, at war with myself. Then I just went for it.

Me: Superhero, remember?

Luna: Yassssss. I’m cackling. Thank you.

Mission accomplished.

I set down my phone, turning back to the mirror to adjust my tie again. It was too tight. A boa constricting its prey.

Was it too late to suggest we go for burgers so we could dress down? Taking down a serial killer in a suit didn’t sound comfortable.

Running a hand through my hair, I adjusted the way the longer strands on the top fell. It was shorter on the sides—a style leftover from the military because it worked for me—but the top was pretty long.

Was it too long? Should I have gotten it cut?

I hung my head.

This was ridiculous. I’d faced down some of Slate Harbor’s worst criminals—taken them down before they could even register the blur of my movements.

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