Once the front door closed, the atmosphere snapped back to tense. My parents were no longer smiling. They waited until I had cleared the last plate before sitting me down in the living room.
MARK: (His voice dropping to a serious, low tone) Luna, we need to talk about that photo again.
LUNA: (Defensive) I know, I know. Distant relative. Ancient history. Case closed.
CLAIRE: (Taking my hands, her expression earnest and sincere) Sweetheart, listen. Your father and I love you more than anything. We wouldn't lie to you about anything important. The man in the picture... okay, maybe we were a little vague.
MARK: (Leaning forward, spinning a complex, carefully crafted tale) That man, "The Observer," was Rose's first fiancé. Her first love, from when she was very young, back in Europe. He was a very charming man, very dedicated to natural sciences and studying ancient patterns. He had intense green eyes, yes, just like you saw.
LUNA: (My heart thumps) He was a scientist?
CLAIRE: Yes. But, Luna, he was also... unstable. He was obsessed with old, forgotten histories and prophecies. He eventually became quite erratic, talking about things no one understood—unseen forces, dangerous promises. It was all very dramatic, very sad. Rose realized he was unwell, broke the engagement, and fled to America to start a new, normal life with your Grandpa.
MARK: The pin, the "twisted metal," was a silly club or university society he belonged to. That name, "The Observer," was a nickname they had for him because he was always watching, always looking for some sort of cosmic pattern. The dream you had? Your subconscious must have picked up on the residual drama of that story. Maybe you saw a picture of him a long time ago.
LUNA: (Chewing on my lip, considering the story) So... he was just a crazy, drama-prone ex-fiancé who happened to be obsessed with the occult? And the whole "no shadow, vacant eyes" thing was just my brain translating "unstable" and "unwell"?
CLAIRE: (Nodding vigorously) Exactly! It was a random, tragic story from your grandmother's youth. It has nothing to do with you, Luna. It's safe. It's over. Now, let's focus on the real danger: that Algebra exam.
They were so earnest, so relieved when I finally sighed and slowly nodded. The story had just enough truth woven into it—Grandma Rose's past, a tragic, dramatic element—to be plausible. My scientific brain preferred the "unstable mind" theory over "supernatural conspiracy."
"Okay," I said, pushing the last of the Mac and Cheese away.
"I believe you. It was a stressful dream about a sad story. I need to focus on the exam. I'm going to my room to study the Pythagorean theorem."
My parents exchanged a look of profound relief, their shoulders visibly slumping with tension released. They had won. They had successfully distracted me.