Noa told her everything.
He was a minor celestial spirit—tasked with watching over the night sky. Not important enough to control the stars. Not powerful enough to command the tides.
But he kept the sky balanced.
He made sure the constellations didn't drift.
He polished moonlight.
Mostly, he listened.
"One night," he admitted, "I wondered what it felt like to be listened to instead."
So he leaned too far over the edge of the sky.
And fell.
"The moon hasn't called you back?" Lina asked softly.
He shook his head. "Not yet."
Lina crossed her arms. "Well. Until it does, you're stuck with me."
He looked at her like she'd handed him something fragile and priceless.
"I don't mind," he said.