Coming Back as Enemy's Luna

37. Different

= Amara =

I was already home before the sun dipped beneath the horizon. The house welcomed me with its familiar stillness, and I let myself rest for an hour, stretched out and listening to the quiet, before forcing myself back on my feet to prepare dinner.

Somewhere along the way, moving around Mikael’s house had stopped feeling foreign.

I knew where the utensils were without opening every cabinet. I reached for spices without second-guessing myself. My hands moved on their own, as if I’d been doing this for far longer than I actually had.

Almost two weeks, I reminded myself. That was all it had been. Maybe that was why it felt natural—routine had a way of settling into your bones faster than you expected.

I kept dinner simple. Light. Healthy. Something that wouldn’t weigh us down after a long day. When everything was finally done, I cleaned up, wiping down counters and gathering stray items. Most of the mess, embarrassingly enough, was mine. Traces of my presence scattered through a house that hadn’t originally been meant for me.

By the time the clock crept toward six, the food was ready.

That was when he came home.

The moment Mikael stepped inside, I felt it—an invisible shift in the air. He hadn’t said a word yet, hadn’t even looked at me long enough for me to read his expression, but I knew. He had something on his mind. Something he wanted to talk about.

And for reasons I didn’t want to acknowledge, I already knew exactly what it was.

We sat across from each other at the table, the space between us filled with the quiet clink of utensils and the hum of the house settling around us. I kept my gaze on my plate, silently wishing the moment would pass, wishing he would let the silence stay untouched.

“I heard about what happened at the market,” Mikael said, barely a minute after we began eating.

I let out a slow, tired breath. Of course he had. Probably the deltas reported it to him. I’d expected it to come up eventually—just not now, not over dinner.

“Yeah,” I said quietly. “I’m sorry if I caused a scene.”

He didn’t respond right away. Instead, he cut into his food with deliberate calm before finally lifting his gaze to me.

“Why?” he asked. “What exactly happened?”

I had been about to take a bite, but his question stopped me. My fork hovered midair before I set it back down. I looked at him then—really looked at him—and felt that brief, familiar hesitation coil in my chest. Part of me wanted to brush it off, to keep it vague and move on.

But this was his territory. His domain.

If I chose not to tell him, it wouldn’t change anything.

With another quiet sigh, I dropped my gaze to my food on my plate. The knife scraped softly against porcelain as I began cutting into it, the motion giving my hands something to do while my thoughts caught up.

“I didn’t mean for it to escalate,” I said at last, my voice low. “It just… happened.”

The words came slowly after that. Piece by piece. I told him what had really gone down—what was said, what wasn’t, and the moment everything tipped out of control. It took longer than I expected, the story unfolding in uneven fragments, shaped by memory and restraint.

Mikael didn’t interrupt.

He sat there in silence, methodically slicing his food, taking a few bites as he listened. No judgment. No impatience. Just quiet attention, the kind that somehow made the truth feel heavier as it left my mouth.

“So… yeah. That’s pretty much what happened. At least from my side of things.”

I finished explaining and leaned back slightly, watching him instead of my plate. He didn’t say a word—just stared at me, chewing slowly like he was still sorting through everything I’d just dropped on him. The silence stretched, heavy but not uncomfortable.

Honestly? I took it as a win.

It finally gave me the chance to focus on my food.

A few bites in, he swallowed and broke the quiet. “So that’s how you deal with people like that?”

“Yes.” I answered after I finished chewing, setting my fork down just long enough to meet his gaze. “I learned the hard way. Trial, error, consequences.” A faint shrug followed. “So dealing with people like them isn’t exactly new territory for me.”

I didn’t wait for his reaction. I went back to eating, letting the clink of cutlery fill the space where his thoughts were clearly still forming.

He stayed quiet after that—thankfully. And just like that, the tension eased. The conversation drifted, slipping into safer, meaningless topics: random observations, half-finished jokes, things that didn’t require emotional armor. Eventually, without either of us really steering it, we landed on the one subject neither of us could ignore forever.

The bonding ceremony.

“Since the public already knows about you,” he said calmly.

Dinner had long been cleared away, the remnants of the meal replaced by half-filled wine glasses catching the low glow of the lights. The air felt heavier now—slower, more deliberate—as he lifted his glass and took an unhurried sip.

“We’ll hold our bonding ceremony on the next full moon.”

= Amara =

The words landed like a strike to my chest.

My body went completely still, as if moving might somehow make this more real than it already was. My heart slammed hard against my ribs, loud enough that I was certain he could hear it.

“Wait—three days from now?” I blurted out, panic slipping past my lips before I could stop it.

His gaze snapped to me instantly, sharp and unmistakably displeased.

“Didn’t you hear what I said?” he hissed under his breath. “I said the next full moon.”

Heat rushed to my face as understanding finally caught up with fear. I bit down on my lower lip, the tension in my chest loosening just a fraction.

“Oh,” I exhaled, letting out a small, nervous chuckle. “I’m sorry. I was just… surprised when you brought up the bonding ceremony.”

Surprised was an understatement.

He didn’t reply. Instead, he turned his attention back to his wine, swirling the deep red liquid as though the conversation hadn’t just shifted the course of my entire existence. His silence pressed in on me, heavy and unreadable.

I stared down at my own glass, my thoughts spiraling as I tried to recall everything I’d ever read about Veyrath bonding ceremonies. And beneath the anxiety, beneath the lingering shock, something else stirred.

Curiosity.

“Is there… Anything specific we need to do during the ceremony?” I asked, glancing up from my plate. “Or some kind of ritual that has to be done for it to happen?”

He raised a brow. “Haven’t you read about it in the books?”

I sighed, long and dramatic, letting my head tip back slightly. “Of course I have.”

And I had. Multiple times.

The thing was, reading about it and accepting it were two very different things.

Their bonding ceremony wasn’t anything like what I’d grown up knowing. It wasn’t familiar. It wasn’t simple.

It wasn’t… Gravemire.

Veyrath’s bonding ceremony is…ancient. Uncomfortably so. The kind of tradition that feels like it should have been retired along with stone altars and blood oaths whispered under dying moons. Sometimes I can’t help but wonder if they even still perform it at all. If it exists only in records and stories—ink on aging pages, preserved more for reverence than practice.

That was why I had asked.

“Of course I’ve read about it,” I said carefully, choosing my words the way one might step across thin ice. “But I didn’t assume everything written in the records would actually be followed. Those texts are old. Ancient, really. And traditions evolve, don’t they? For all I know, your ways could have changed over time.”

He didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he studied me—quiet, unreadable, the kind of stare that made me hyperaware of my own breathing. The silence stretched just long enough to make me shift in my seat before he finally nodded.

“Well,” he said slowly, as though turning the thought over in his mind, “you do have a point.”

Relief loosened something in my chest. His gaze dropped back to his plate, and I followed his lead, only then realizing how far ahead he was. His meal was nearly finished, while mine looked barely touched. I hadn’t even made it halfway.

I picked up my fork again, suddenly aware of my hunger, and started eating—just as Mikael spoke.

“But no,” he added calmly, almost casually. “Our ways haven’t changed. What you’ve read in the books… we still perform it.”

My chewing slowed.

The words settled heavily between us, sinking in piece by piece. Somewhere in the back of my mind, a memory stirred—one specific passage, one particular step from the ceremony that had stood out far too vividly when I first read it.

I swallowed.

A strange tingling sensation traced its way down my spine, equal parts unease and disbelief. My grip tightened around my fork as the realization crept in, unwanted and undeniable.

Are we seriously… doing that?

“Why?” he asked. “Do you have a problem with our traditions here?”

There was a faint edge to his voice—not outright hostility, but something sharper. A hint of mockery. A tease meant to test me, to see how easily I’d flinch.

I exhaled slowly, the sound heavy in my chest, and lifted my glass. The wine burned as I downed it in a single swallow, the bitterness grounding me more than the alcohol ever could.

“No,” I said at last. “Nothing.”

The word was simple. Too simple.

His brow lifted, skepticism written plainly across his face. He didn’t believe me—and he wasn’t wrong to doubt it.

“Are you sure?” he pressed. Then his tone shifted, losing its lightness entirely. “If you have an issue with our bonding ceremony, I’ll give you one last chance to…run.”

The coldness in his voice sliced clean through the room.

I reached for the bottle again, pouring myself another drink. The red liquid filled the flute slowly, catching the light as I stared into it. It looked darker now. Heavier.

And then what?

Where would I even go?

The thought settled deep, unwelcome but honest. There was no safe place waiting for me beyond these walls. No open arms. No sanctuary. Just closed doors and whispered judgments.

Who would ever accept an outcast like me?

I set the glass down and lifted my gaze to him, meeting his eyes head-on. Whatever fear lingered inside me, I buried it beneath something stronger.

Resolve.

“I won’t run away, Mikael,” I said, my voice steady, unshaking. “Not now. Not ever.”

I held his gaze, making sure he saw the truth in my eyes.

This wasn’t bravado.

It was a choice.