Unless he wasn’t security and just some random person who had managed to sneak onto her property. In that case, she had to get a good look at him. Just in case. To keep everyone safe.

A quick hop to the right later, Luna stood with her back against the wall. She used the cotton curtain as a shield, hoping it kept her hidden as she peered out. The man was still there, still looking up, just not at her window. She’d been wrong. His face was turned in her general direction, but his gaze shot straight past her. He wore a dark-colored trench coat with a reflective material sewn onto the hems and collar. His long hair was slicked back away from his face—wrinkled, pale, and angular.

“Oh,” she said, slightly disappointed. How rude. Following his gaze, she strained to see what he could. Luna squinted, pressing her forehead against the window as if moving that extra centimeter closer would help her see better. When it didn’t work, she rocket-launched caution to the wind and focused on him instead. “What are you doing, Mr. Super Creepy Man?” she whispered.

The man lowered his head as if he’d heard her.

No mistaking it this time. His dark eyes zeroed in on her window.

Goose bumps rippled across Luna’s arms. Her heart rate kicked up to a smooth gallop, but instead of running, this time something wickedly defiant glued her feet to the floor. She raised her chin, ignoring the fearful shiver settling into her bones. Swallowing hard, she did the bravest thing she could think of: She waved at him.

Luna had a rule. When something scared her, she vowed to always scare it right back. Face it down and prove she was more than it would ever be.

I see you, she thought. If she could handle her sleep paralysis demon, a creepy man on the lawn in a shiny coat was nothing.

The man began to smile, sagging cheeks lifting like curtains for an old stage play. He waved back before walking away toward the forest. The same reflective material was sewn onto his back in the shape of a sickle.

FRIDAY, 6:00 A.M.

A Message from Jewel

Good morning, darlings! I trust you slept well.

I refuse to hear anything to the contrary, because it would be a blatant lie.

Please proceed to the Floral Sunroom for breakfast, which will begin at 8:00 A.M. sharp.

As promised:

A Nonsensical Recipe for Winning

Preheat oven to 314 degrees.

Mix all colors until batter is smooth.

Pour into sweet companion molds. Set aside all but three key ingredients.

Whip two partridges until a psychopomp and circumstance forms.

Share and cut the Baker’s dozen chocolate bar into quadragrams.

In a pressure cooker, separate the royal flush with red herrings wild. Bake for seven minutes.

Serve the chocolate concoction scrambled atop a pie on a cloudy white day under a winner’s cursed crown.