Claire and Mark watched her go, then sank onto the sofa, relief washing over them.
CLAIRE: (Sighing heavily) Thank goodness for that girl. She's like a human fire alarm for normalcy.
MARK: (Nodding, relaxing his shoulders) See? That's what she needs. Friends. Banter. The normal rhythm of life. The hysteria will pass. By tomorrow, she'll be obsessing over her exam makeup date, and that dream will be nothing but a faint memory. She'll be safe. We've protected her.
They truly believed it. They were satisfied that their combined efforts—the firm denial, the parental shield, and Chloe's comedic distraction—had worked.
Upstairs, however, the scene was playing out differently. Chloe was indeed successful in making Luna laugh with tales of school antics, but while Chloe was explaining the hilarious injustice of a pop quiz, Luna was staring past her, her gaze focused and distant.
Luna's internal monologue: My parents were worried, too worried. They were hiding something big. 'Handsome, green-eyed figures' wasn't just my dream. It's real. They're terrified I'll find out about 'ancient family secrets.' Chloe's a genius distraction, but the Fries of Forgiveness can't fix this. I need a real plan. I need to find out who The Observer, 1947 is.
The photograph remained in her mind and made a silent promise that she wouldn't forget a thing.
The scent of my mom's famous mac and cheese Bake—the kind with three different types of cheese and a dangerously crispy topping—immediately hit me when Chloe and I came downstairs. My dad had also produced a perfect pitcher of my favorite raspberry iced tea. They were clearly going all-out in the attempt to smother the morning's mystery with carbohydrates and sugar.
The dinner table was set like a scene from a hostage negotiation, with the Mac and Cheese as the peace offering.
CHLOE: (Holding up her fork to the bake) A masterpiece, Mrs. Hayes. A true triumph. I shall start with the crispy edge, which is clearly the most coveted and mathematically superior part of the dish.
LUNA: (Rolling her eyes) Hands off, Chloe. You get the middle. The edges are reserved for people who have endured existential crises involving potentially holographic men.
MARK: (Beaming, trying too hard) Ah, yes! Holographic men! You know, Luna, I think I dreamed once that I was a large, handsome hologram too. It was right after I ate a whole bag of those ridiculously salty pretzel bites. Probably just a case of late-night salty carb confusion.
CLAIRE: (Patting her husband's hand) It's true, honey. Dreams are just nonsense. Remember that time you dreamed the cat learned to operate the dishwasher?
LUNA: (Taking a large bite of cheese) Only, Mom, the cat can operate the dishwasher. He just chooses not to out of spite. And that dream guy was too perfect to be caused by pretzel bites. His jawline could cut glass. Your hologram was probably just a blurry, Dad-shaped blob.
MARK: (Looking mildly offended) My hologram was quite dashing! He wore a tie! But, point taken. Now, what about the exam? Did you and Chloe discuss the makeup date?
CHLOE: We did! And I made sure she knows that failing to solve for x is far more terrifying than any vacant-eyed mystery man. Because x has consequences. Mr. Hayes, does this
mac and cheese have paprika in the crumble? It's divine.
The conversation thankfully swerved into a less-treacherous lane of food compliments and school gossip until Chloe, armed with a box of leftovers, finally said her goodbyes.