The sun was too bright when I woke up.
A stripe of morning light stretched across my bedroom ceiling like a spotlight on a stage I hadn't meant to enter. I blinked at my phone. 9:30 AM. Damn—I'd overslept again.
I shuffled around my room, found some clean-ish clothes, and tugged on my favorite jacket. My fingers brushed over the little patch I'd stitched onto the sleeve—a moth, sewn crookedly, stubbornly. No one had noticed it before. No one but me.
I stepped out of my room and saw Dad, fast asleep in his old chair, the TV still flickering with static and late-night commercials. I grabbed a blanket, tucked it over him gently, then slipped out the front door.
The morning air smelled like burnt toast and bus fumes—typical Redharbor. I made my way down to my favorite coffee shop on 8th Street. I pushed open the door and was met with a weird, familiar theme.
Moths. Everywhere.
There were decals on the walls. Paper strings of toy moths hanging like garlands. Even the chalkboard behind the counter read:
Try our New Special: MOFF DUST – Inspired by Redharbor's mysterious winged savior!
"Wren! Want your usual?" the barista called.
"Yeah, thanks," I said, eyes drifting across the decorations. "What's with all the moth stuff?"
"Oh! After that 'moth guy' saved everyone at the bank, he's been everywhere. News, blogs, podcasts. We thought we'd celebrate our local vigilante." She smiled. "Didn't you say something about him before?"
"Yeah…" I paused. "I wasn't sure if he was real. Guess I was wrong."
She handed me my drink—espresso, two shots, oat milk, vanilla dust—and I took a seat near the window. I plugged in my headphones and disappeared into my feed.
Podcast after podcast. Thread after thread.
Everyone was talking about Luna Wing.
He was already a myth—and I was maybe the only one with proof he wasn't.
Not that I could tell anyone.
A couple hours later, I walked into class and found Nate—head down on his desk, knocked out cold.
I slid into the seat next to him and poked his shoulder.
"Nate. Wake up."
He jerked upright, disoriented. His eyes were glassy, like he hadn't really slept.
"You okay?" I asked.
He nodded, brushing his hair back—still messy as ever.
"Look at this." I shoved my phone toward him.
The screen lit up with a Redharbor Now article:
'LUNA WING STRIKES AGAIN—WHO IS THE VIGILANTE BEHIND THE MASK?'
"I told you he was real," I said.
Nate stared at the screen like it was burning through him.
"Wow. Guess you were right."
I grinned. "And guess what else?"
"What?"
"You said if Luna Wing was real, you'd take me on a real date."
He blinked. "I did say that…"
"So how about tomorrow. Five o'clock. I want food and maybe a milkshake."
He laughed—quiet, a little nervous. "It's a date."
I studied him for a second. He was tired, but he still smiled that same crooked smile. His ocean-blue eyes always had a storm behind them. His hair was a mess, and he smelled faintly of solder and smoke.
I remembered the time I was sick, coughing up a lung, and he showed up at my door with soup and ice cream—even though he looked like he hadn't slept in two days.
"Nate…" I said carefully, "what do you think about this vigilante guy?"
He shifted in his seat. "I mean… he's cool, I guess. But I don't know. Should we really be cheering on some guy who punches criminals in a mask?"
I narrowed my eyes. "You don't like him?"
"I didn't say that."
"You're jealous," I teased.
"What? No. Of course not."
"Well, you better not be. Luna Wing isn't the one taking me out tomorrow," I said, smirking.
That shut him up fast.
After class and a few more hours hanging out with Nate, I made my way to the place no one else knew about—the tower.
A few years ago, I found this old clock tower near the docks. Abandoned. Falling apart. Perfect. I'd dragged in some equipment, scavenged parts from scrapyards, and turned it into a half-working tech haven. Radios. Screens. Frequencies.
But the best part?
It was how I found him.
A fluke signal—just static at first. But then words. A call sign. A voice.
I sat at my desk, scanning frequencies as the sun dipped below the skyline. The tower creaked with wind. The screen glowed soft green.
Then:
"Nest, are you there?"
I smiled before I could stop myself.
"Here, Echo. You see the news? You're famous."