The Grandview Hotel's kitchen at 10:47 PM smelled like garlic, lemon cleaner, and the last batch of whatever Mia had been experimenting with after the dinner service ended.

  Luna pushed through the swinging door, grateful her shift was almost over. The front desk had been busy, even for a Friday—late check-ins, a guest who'd locked himself out of his room twice, and Steven Blackwood asking her out for the third time this week. Her face hurt from trying to put on a fake smile for eight straight hours.

  "There she is!" Mia's voice carried across the kitchen before Luna saw her. "Perfect timing! Sam, tell her she has to try this."

  Luna found her friend standing at the prep station, red curls escaping from beneath her chef's hat, holding a spoon like a weapon. Sam hovered nearby, his bulk making the industrial kitchen seem smaller. He was watching Mia with the expression he always wore around her—careful attention disguised as professional interest.

  "Try what?" Luna approached, setting her employee radio on the counter.

  "New dessert concept. Lavender panna cotta with honey tuile." Mia thrust the spoon toward her. "Sam says it's too floral but he's wrong and I need you to confirm."

  Luna accepted the spoon. The panna cotta was smooth, the lavender subtle enough not to taste like soap. "Nice."

  "'It's good' she says." Mia threw her hands up. "Sam, do you hear this? This is what I deal with. 'Nice.' No excitement, no enthusiasm, just—"

  "It's very nice," Luna amended.

  "Better." Mia grinned and turned back to Sam. "See? Luna has excellent taste. Unlike some people who think lavender belongs in soap and nothing else."

  Sam pushed his glasses up his nose, a hint of a smile crossing his face. "I didn't say it was bad. I said the hotel guests might find it too adventurous."

  "Adventurous is exactly what they need. Do you know what I made for the banquet tomorrow? Chicken. Again. The third wedding this month and they all want chicken." Mia began wiping down her station with more force than necessary. "I went to culinary school for chicken."

  "You make really good chicken," Sam offered.

  "Thank you, Sam. At least someone appreciates my skills." Mia shot Luna a look. "Even if that someone is trying to butter me up."

  Sam's ears reddened. "I'm not—I was just—"

  "Relax, I'm teasing." Mia's grin softened. "You're sweet. Unlike Little Miss Poker Face over here."

  Luna had heard this particular speech before. She waited it out, watching Sam try to look anywhere but at Mia while simultaneously trying to look at Mia as much as possible. It would be almost painful to witness if it wasn't so predictable.

  "Are you two done for the night?" Luna asked.

  "Ten minutes ago. Sam's finishing the prep list for tomorrow because he's responsible like that. I'm here because I lost track of time making desserts nobody will order." Mia stripped off her chef's coat, revealing a bright yellow t-shirt underneath that said "I LIKE BIG BUNDTS AND I CANNOT LIE." "Why are you here? Your shift ended at eleven."

  "It's 10:55."

  "Close enough. Come on, I'll walk out with you." Mia grabbed her bag from the office. "Sam, lock up when you're done?"

  "Sure." Sam was already turning back to his clipboard, a man grateful for a task that didn't involve navigating conversation. "I'll try to finish it quickly..."

  "So, let me guess..." Mia said as the two girls went through the hallway leading outside. "You want to feed your cats."

  Luna didn't confirm or deny it. She just pulled the ziplock bag of kibble from her backpack.

  "I knew it!" Mia chuckled. "You are so predictable. I remember, there were those three strays the last time."

  "There might be more of them."

  Mia leaned against the wall, pulling out her phone. "I'm going to start calling you the Cat Whisperer. Or the Stray Collector. Or—"

  "You could leave."

  "And miss this thrilling daily ritual? Never." But Mia's attention was already on her phone, thumb scrolling. "Oh god, my mom sent me another article about how I should give up cooking and find a nice man to settle down with. As if those are the only two options. I'm only twenty-five, for goodness sake, not forty!"

  Some people would be surprised at the statement—most would assume she was younger than Luna, not five years her senior. Luna still remembered the time when she had to literally look up at the redhead—was it seven years since? Maybe eight. She still respected her greatly.

  The cats appeared on schedule—first the orange tabby, then the scarred gray tom, finally the calico moving more slowly with her swollen belly. Luna crouched, pouring the kibble into three small piles. The cats knew the routine, taking their positions without fighting.

  "You know what I don't get?" Mia said, still scrolling. "My mom has a career. She's been a nurse for thirty years. But somehow me wanting to own a restaurant is 'too ambitious' while my brother wanting to be a lawyer is 'following his dreams.' The double standard is—hey, annoying guys incoming."

  Luna looked up—even though she'd noticed the uneven steps before Mia had said anything. Steven and Roger were walking down the alley, Steven's jacket slung over his shoulder despite the November chill. Roger walked slightly behind, phone in hand, expression neutral.

  "Ladies." Steven's Hollywood smile was camera-ready. The man was tall—a bit taller than Luna's 6-foot frame—and unmistakably handsome. "Didn't expect to find you in the glamorous back alley."

  "We work here," Mia said flatly. "Why are you here?"

  "Shortcut to the parking garage." Steven's attention shifted to Luna. "Although finding you here is a bonus. We're heading to Bar Louie. You should come."

  "No, thank you." Luna replied, petting the gray stray without looking at the man.

  "Come on, don't be like that. One drink. Just to hang out, no pressure." He stepped closer, whiskey already on his breath. "I promise I'm fun once you get to know me."

  "I'm sure you are. I'm still not interested."

  "See, that's what makes this interesting." Steven's grin widened. "Most girls would—"

  "Steven." Roger's voice cut through. The man was on the smaller side, his face forgettable, but he moved with noticeable swagger—regardless of whether any alcohol flowed through his blood. "She said no. Let it go."

  Steven turned to his friend, expression flickering. "I'm just being friendly."

  "You're being pushy." Roger pocketed his phone. "And she's clearly not interested. We should go... there's plenty of fish in the sea, my man."

  For a moment, Steven looked like he might argue. Then his friendly smile reconstructed itself. He was a professional actor, and a bit of whiskey wouldn't change that. "Your loss, Luna. Come on, Rog."

  The girls waited until the footsteps faded.

  "I think I like Roger," Mia announced. "Did you see that? Actual respect for boundaries. Someone get that man a medal."

  "He was probably just tired of watching Steven get rejected," Luna commented, still playing with strays as if the earlier interaction hadn't happened. She wanted to comment that something about Roger felt off—like he was playing a role, despite being an aspiring movie director, not an actor like his friend.

  "Don't ruin this for me. I'm choosing to believe in human decency." Mia checked her phone. "Holy crap, it's 11:15. I need to catch the bus or I'm walking home. You coming?"

  "Different bus."

  "Right. Well, don't forget—ramen tomorrow at six. I already made reservations and if you bail I will come to your apartment and drag you out."

  Stolen novel; please report.

  "Okay."

  "Wow, no 'maybe later'? Are you feeling okay?" Mia reached over and pressed her palm to Luna's forehead dramatically. "No fever. Must be an imposter."

  Luna stepped back. "See you tomorrow."

  "Yeah, yeah." But Mia was smiling. "Feed your army. Say hi to the cats for me. Try not to turn into a full hermit before our dinner date."

  She disappeared around the corner, humming slightly off-key.

  Luna looked down. The cats had finished eating. After a few minutes of petting, the younger two cats left to fulfill their own goals. The calico lingered, allowing Luna to run a hand over her distended belly. Definitely pregnant. Probably due within the month if Luna's count was right.

  "I should bring you to a veterinarian," Luna told her. She'd want to take the cats home—but her dad was allergic. They still had a Sphynx and two dogs, though.

  The calico purred, rubbing against Luna's leg before vanishing into the shadows.

  Luna collected the empty ziplock bag and stood. The alley was quiet now—just her, the dumpsters, and the distant sound of traffic on Wilshire Boulevard. Above, the Los Angeles sky glowed orange from light pollution. No stars visible.

  She checked her phone. 11:18 PM. The next bus wasn't until 11:40—replaced service after hours, running every forty minutes instead of every fifteen. She could wait in the employee lounge, or...

  ---

  A car engine approached from the parking garage—Luna recognized the particular rumble of Sam's old Honda Civic before she saw it. The headlights swept across the alley as he pulled up beside her, rolling down the passenger window.

  "Hey." Sam leaned across the seat. "You waiting for the bus?"

  "Yes."

  "That's like a half an hour wait at this hour, isn't it?" He glanced at his dashboard clock. "I'm heading out. Want a ride home?"

  Luna hesitated. "You live in Pasadena."

  "Yeah, so?"

  "That's the opposite direction from my apartment."

  Sam shrugged, pushing his glasses up. "It's not that far out of the way. Twenty minutes, maybe. Better than you waiting around in the dark for an hour."

  "The bus comes in twenty minutes."

  "Okay, if it's not late." A small smile crossed his face. "Come on, Luna. It's late, I've got a car, and I'd feel bad leaving you here... I wanted to pick Mia, too, but I see she's gone already."

  Luna considered. Sam had never given her any reason not to trust him. And he was right—waiting alone wasn't ideal, even if she could handle herself.

  "Okay," she said finally. "Thank you."

  "No problem." Sam reached over to unlock the passenger door. "Just toss your bag in the back."

  Luna slid into the passenger seat, noting the meticulously clean interior. No fast food wrappers, no clutter—just a faint smell of the pine air freshener hanging from his rearview mirror and something that might have been Chinese takeout from earlier.

  Sam pulled out of the alley onto the main street. "So, where exactly?"

  "Westwood. Near the corner of Veteran and Wilshire."

  "Got it." He merged into the sparse late-night traffic. For a minute, neither of them spoke. Then: "Can I ask you something?"

  "Okay."

  "Do you... does Mia ever talk about me? Like, outside of work?"

  Luna considered the question. Technically, yes—Mia talked about everyone. But Luna understood what Sam was really asking. And she knew better than to give away her friend's true feelings—even if she thought it was stupid that those two weren't still together.

  "She thinks you're kind," Luna said finally. "And talented."

  "Talented." Sam's laugh was hollow. "That's the word you use for coworkers."

  "She also said you have nice eyes."

  Sam's hands jerked slightly on the steering wheel. "She—really?"

  "Last month. When you weren't wearing your glasses."

  "I... huh." He pushed his glasses up his nose, suddenly self-conscious. "Thanks for telling me."

  "You should tell her," Luna said. "That you like her."

  Sam was quiet for a moment, navigating around a slower car. "It's complicated."

  "Is it?"

  "We work together. If it goes badly, things get weird. And she's..." He trailed off, then tried again. "Mia's amazing. She could have anyone. I'm just the guy who preps vegetables and tries not to burn the chicken."

  "She doesn't want just anyone."

  "How do you know?"

  Luna thought about all the times she'd watched Mia light up when Sam entered a room, or how her complaints about work somehow always circled back to something Sam had said or done. "I pay attention."

  "Right. You do." Sam smiled a little. "Mia showed me that article about you in the archery magazine. 'Rising star' and all that. You competing in regionals?"

  Luna felt her face warm slightly. "Maybe. I got the email today."

  "You should. You're really good." He paused at a red light. "I tried archery once. Freshman year of college, thought it would impress girls. Turns out I have terrible hand-eye coordination."

  Her coach kept saying she had "extraordinary talent", and lamented that she could've had a shot at the Olympics—if she'd started as a child. Or maybe just a few years earlier. The progress she'd made in mere three years was quite impressive. Shocking, even. But she still believed in practice above anything else.

  Luna shared her thoughts in a succint, "It takes practice."

  "That's what the instructor said right before I shot an arrow into the ceiling." The light turned green and Sam accelerated smoothly. "Never went back."

  Luna almost smiled. Almost.

  They drove in comfortable silence for a while, the city passing by in flashes of streetlights and darkened storefronts. Luna's hand rested near her hip out of habit, though she felt no particular tension. Just Sam and his reliable Honda and the quiet hum of late-night Los Angeles.

  "Take the next right," Luna said as they approached her neighborhood.

  Sam followed her directions, pulling up in front of her apartment building a few minutes later. "Here you go. Safe and sound."

  "Thank you for the ride."

  "Anytime." He hesitated, then: "Luna? About what you said, about Mia. Do you really think...?"

  "Yes."

  "Okay." Sam nodded, more to himself than to her. "Okay. Maybe I'll... think about it."

  Luna reached for the door handle, then paused. Through the windshield, the sky looked strange. The orange haze of light pollution seemed dimmer somehow, the darkness deeper.

  "Do you feel that?" she asked.

  "Feel what?"

  Luna couldn't put words to it. Just a pressure building in the air, like the atmosphere itself had become heavier. Electric. Her skin prickled with goosebumps that had nothing to do with the temperature.

  "Nothing," she said, though that wasn't quite true. "Drive safe."

  "You too. I mean—walk safe. Get inside safe." Sam's ears reddened. "You know what I mean."

  Luna slid out of the car, shouldering her backpack. Sam waited until she'd reached the building's entrance before pulling away, his taillights disappearing around the corner.

  The feeling didn't go away.

  Luna's hand automatically checked her right hip, confirming the compact 9mm in its concealed holster. Her dad's insistence when she'd taken the late shift: "Late hours, walking alone sometimes—just in case, baby girl. Hope you never need it, but better to have it."

  Luna knew how to use guns, and practiced regularly. But she still lamented that she couldn't just bring a bow with her everywhere—a weapon she trusted way more.

  She climbed the stairs to the second floor, each step feeling stranger than the last. The air was thick now, viscous, like breathing through honey. Her lungs worked harder than they should have for such a simple task.

  Luna unlocked her apartment door and stepped inside. The familiar space—small living room, kitchenette, bedroom barely big enough for her bed and archery equipment—should have been comforting. Instead, everything felt wrong.

  The wrongness intensified.

  Luna's vision sharpened suddenly, details leaping into focus with unnatural clarity. She could see individual dust motes floating in the air, could hear her neighbor's television three units down, could feel the vibration of the building's foundation settling.

  Her phone screen flickered in her pocket.

  She pulled it out. The display glitched, pixelating and reforming. 67% battery. No reason for it to—

  The screen went black.

  Luna pressed the power button. Nothing. Dead.

  The lights in her apartment dimmed, flickered, then died completely.

  Through her window, she watched Los Angeles go dark. Not section by section like a rolling blackout—all at once. Every light in every building, every streetlamp, every car headlight all extinguished in the same instant.

  Total darkness swallowed the city.

  Except Luna could still see. Not well, but better than she should have been able to. Starlight streamed through her window—impossibly bright starlight, the kind that shouldn't exist above Los Angeles. The city's light pollution was simply... gone.

  Luna's heart hammered against her ribs.

  The air changed again. That thick, electric feeling intensified, became almost solid. She could feel it pressing against her skin, crawling into her lungs with each breath. The sensation was overwhelming—terrifying and exhilarating at once.

  Energy thrummed through everything. Through the walls, through the floor, through her own body. Luna could feel invisible vibrations building, resonating at a frequency that made her teeth ache and her bones hum.

  Something vast was coming.

  Luna backed toward her bedroom, toward her bow—not that she knew what good it would do against whatever this was. The vibrations grew stronger, faster, building toward some critical threshold.

  The air shimmered like heat waves.

  Reality felt thin.

  Luna's breath came in short gasps. Her senses were screaming warnings she didn't understand. Every instinct told her to run, to hide, to do something—but there was nowhere to go. The wrongness was everywhere.

  The vibrations reached a crescendo—

  Then stopped.

  Complete silence fell.

  Not natural silence. Absolute silence. No traffic sounds, no distant voices, no ambient noise of a living city. Just... nothing.

  Luna held her breath.

  Words appeared.

  Not on a screen. Not projected. Simply existing in her vision, overlaid on reality itself in crisp blue text:

  Welcome to the Grand Integration, humanity.

  Luna stared at the impossible words floating in front of her eyes.

  Then the world shattered like glass, and she fell through the cracks into somewhere else entirely.