Luna nodded. “One hundred percent.” She didn’t beg, cry, and bargain with Tasha, and then travel twelve hours to just … turn around and go back home. Besides, she hadn’t even met Jewel yet.

“Sounds exciting to me. A little weird and like a horror story waiting to happen, but exciting,” Stella said. “Lead the way, Napoleon.”

“Napoleon?” Luna asked.

Alex said, “It’s because you’re short,” and Luna frowned at Stella so suddenly, so hard, her eyes started to hurt. It was a tiny miracle that she hadn’t given herself whiplash too.

“It’s also a vote of confidence.” Stella laughed around her words. “Before he got cocky, Napoleon was a despotic badass. Stay humble, little leader, and we might just make it out of here alive.”

“Death jokes. Nice,” Harlow said to Stella with obvious contempt. Her gaze slid to Nicole, who remained impassive.

Luna let herself calm down, but not before tossing a final warning glare at Stella, who continued to smile at her. Clever and crooked, like a devil waiting to trick her into falling. She glanced at Alex to check in with him—his worried grin was a sight to see. She didn’t think anyone could have pulled that off like him. Cute but wary. Supportive but hesitant. She grabbed his bare hand, holding it with her gloved one to give him strength, just in case he really was scared.

She’d discovered that he liked touching while on the plane. He didn’t tell her he was scared of flying until he was two seconds away from hyperventilating during takeoff. Out of nowhere, he asked to hold her hand, and she agreed of course, and he just closed his eyes. It was enough.

Somehow, she had been enough. And she hoped holding his hand again would have the same effect. When she stepped forward toward the stairs, he followed with no resistance.

Right then, at the exact moment Luna ascended the stairs to Jewel’s childhood home, her internal life soundtrack kicked in. Something about a stairway to heaven and knocking on heaven’s door. Maybe it was a couple of songs mashed together.

Before he died, her dad liked to listen to classic rock. He was a musician, a guitarist in cover bands that played Motown hits and popular R&B and pop songs from the 1980s and ’90s, but he had taught her that you couldn’t be a great musician if you didn’t listen to a little of everything. You could be good, but you’d never be great.

Luna thought of him, his full belly laughs, his tired but patient eyes, and their shared love of mysteries as she crossed the threshold of no return. He would’ve loved this. She kept walking into the dark room until the outside light faded. Until it was impossible to see in front of her face.

Stella sidled up next to her. “End of the line?”