Page 100 of A Sinful Gravity

Then Cassian's phone rang.

He glanced at the screen and frowned.

"Work call." He looked at me. "I need to take this."

"Okay."

He pulled the car over slowly and picked up his phone.

I watched him. He listened to whoever was on the other end, occasionally responding, his expression growing more serious. The voice on the line was urgent. I couldn't make out the words, but it felt important.

After a moment, he sighed and covered the mouthpiece, turning to me.

"You should head back. Laila's still waiting for you at home." He paused. "I have to deal with something. Might be a while."

I nodded. "Okay."

I pushed open the door and got out. The night breeze hit me—cool, carrying the scent of grass and earth.

I stood on the curb, breathing deep, letting the wind blow away the lingering heat from my face.

Tonight had been too good. So good it felt like a dream.

I shook my head, pushing the scattered thoughts aside for now, and started walking home.

Around the corner, the house came into view. That lamp in the yard was on—the one he always left burning.

I quickened my pace, thinking about Laila. Wondering if she'd kicked off her covers.

Then I saw someone standing at the door, under the streetlight.

A familiar figure.

She wore a dark gray coat. Her hair had gone grayer than it was six years ago, but her posture hadn't changed—always straight-backed, always scrutinizing. A black handbag hung from her hand. She stood at the door, looking at me.

I stopped dead. Some nameless pressure pinned me in place.

My mother.

Katherine Crawford.

What was she doing here?

Six years ago, when I'd called her after the accident, she told me not to be a burden to Cassian. Then she hung up. I'd felt myself dying that night.

I never contacted her again after that. Because I understood—if she knew where I was, she'd drag Cassian here to take me back without hesitation.

I stood frozen, a few steps away, staring at her. My fingers went cold.

She stared back.

Time seemed to freeze. I could hear my heartbeat—pounding faster and faster.

She spoke first.

"Luna."

That voice. Exactly as I remembered. No warmth in it. The same tone she used when I made mistakes in competitions as a child.