Page 18 of Moth to Her Flame

The shift in his tone makes my spine stiffen. “Tell me.”

For the next twenty minutes, he sketches a nightmare filled with both scattered facts and wild conjecture. He may only have a few breadcrumbs, but they hint at things so terrible they make my blood run cold. When he pauses, I realize I’ve scooted closer to him on the couch.

Is it fear or something else that causes me to tuck myself next to him as I ask, “They think I’m connected to some cryptid network?” My voice sounds distant to my ears.

“We’re pretty sure they’ve been monitoring your broadcasts. The caller tonight—that was their facility he spotted.” Riven’s antennae flatten with distress.

I imagine the facility the caller described with the heartless cells and heinous medical equipment Riven just hinted at.

“We need to expose them.” The journalist in me surfaces through my fear. “I’ve still got a few contacts at major networks. With enough evidence—”

“No.” He curls his wing around me, and I again discover the seemingly magical power this simple movement has to calm me on both a physical and emotional level. “We need to be careful about this. Smart. Whatever they’re planning, we can’t rush in without knowing more.”

“So we wait? While they’re out there watching?” I’ve always considered myself a woman of action. The idea of just waiting makes my stomach feel as though it’s full of writhing snakes.

“Dante’s source will have more information soon. Until then…” His wing tightens gently. “We stay alert. Gather evidence. Make sure we understand exactly what we’re dealing with before we act.”

“I hate waiting. Hate feeling helpless.”

“You’re not helpless.” His voice drops lower, resonating through me. “You’re giving people a voice. Creating space for truth. That matters.”

Running a hand through my hair, I stand, needing space to think, though I immediately miss the safety of his embrace. Some dim thought in the back of my mind wonders if thisMothman’s wings hold some kind of magic. “I need to sleep on this. Process everything.”

He rises too, movements liquid in the wing-light. “Of course. I’ll head out to the car—”

“Wait.” The word escapes before I can catch it. We’re only a few feet apart, and something in his expression makes my breath catch. He sways forward slightly, antennae quivering, and for a moment I think he’s going to kiss me. Do Iwanthim to kiss me?

The realization shocks me back a step.

“The couch.” The word seems to scrape my throat. “You should take the couch. I’m sorry—God, I’m so sorry I made you sleep in that car. That was… unfor—”

He cuts off my “unforgivable” with a gentle “Understandable.” His downy wing brushes my arm, feather-light. “You were scared.”

“I was cruel.”

“You were protecting yourself.” Another soft wing-touch. “Never apologize for that.”

Something shifts between us, delicate as starlight and just as magical.

“Stay,” I whisper. Not just for tonight. Not just on the couch. Stay.

His answering smile carries the warmth of his wing-light. “As you wish.”

I grab clean blankets from my little linen closet and hand them to him, feeling guilty that I’ve been snug and warm in my cabin while he’s slept in that old car. From now on, at least he’ll be tucked in and comfortable here on my couch.

We both know tomorrow will bring hard conversations about Apex, about plans and precautions. That somewhere out there, people are watching, waiting, gathering evidence. But for tonight, he’s safe on my couch instead of in that cold car. For tonight, his wings still glow with the memory of our touch. For tonight, that has to be enough.

“Goodnight, Riven.”

His voice follows me into my bedroom, warm and deep as summer thunder. “Goodnight, Chelsea.”

Sleep will be a long time coming, but at least I won’t lie awake wondering if he’s comfortable, if he’s warm enough, if he’s in pain.

Small victories in a war we’re just beginning to understand. A war I seem to be fighting on two fronts.

Chapter Sixteen

Riven

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