Page 103 of Claimed By the Mothman
He had dusted the baseboards. Rearranged the tea by color gradient. Lined up the strawberries in neat rows on a chipped porcelain plate. One was slightly overripe. He ate it without tasting it.
The bond tugged faintly, like a thread held between two needles.
He moved to the window. The city below shimmered. Greymarket Towers wasn’t breathing, exactly, but it wasmoving,slowly, like tectonic plates. A subtle shift in height and hue that left his vision stuttering for half a breath.
The building was rearranging itself.
Below, a flyer peeled off a lamppost and fluttered upward, caught in a wind that didn’t match the air around it. The clouds above drifted east while the paper floated west.
Sig pressed a hand to the window, antennae sweeping the glass. All of a sudden, he saw her. Nell, walking. But—off. Her gait was wrong. Too smooth. Too deliberate. Her head didn’t turn. Her mouth didn’t move. Her eyes didn’t blink.
There was something behind her. A shadow. A ripple. No shape. Just a presence.
Sig blinked once, and in that instant, the image of her disappeared.
His claws stuttered against the windowpane. Something was watching. Waiting.
He stepped back from the window, breathing shallowly. What he had seen wasn’t her. Nottruly. The bond told him she was elsewhere. Safe, for now. But Greymarket had started to echo.
Sig moved toward the door. He would go to his apartment. He would gather what he needed. Nothing that would slow him down, nothing he wouldn’t leave behind in an instant. He would come back and wait, as she had asked.
But if Greymarket was shifting—if the red doors were calling—he would not dare to leave her side again.
—
Nell returned home early, just as she had promised. His heart leapt in relief when he saw her. She walked in, placed her purse on the counter, and went directly to his side.
“Hi,” she said gently, wrapping her arms around his waist and leaning her head into his chest.
Sig churred, gently lifting her chin with a claw and stopping to press a kiss to her lips. “Hello, beloved. Your presence brings me stillness and joy.”
“Well, hopefully not too much stillness. I did think about your proboscis all day, and I distinctly remember granting you full worship permissions when I returned home.”
“I have thought of little else,” Sig replied, nuzzling her hair. She murmured into his chest something that sounded suspiciously likeof course you have,and then glanced at the stove, where something smelling of garlic and soy sizzled.
“You’re cooking?” Surprise laced her voice.
“I found a recipe,” he said, solemn. “I thought you might like it. Do not fear, the food is human and not sentient. I have learned my lesson.”
“My sweet mothman.” Nell poked at the lopsided dumplings in the pan and inhaled deeply. “You are spoiling me. I am a spoiled woman. Is this part of some nefarious plan? Are you planning on caring for me so thoroughly that I become incapable of doing anything myself? Will you clean the apartment next? Is there anything you can’t do?”
I fear I cannot protect you.The thought lanced through his mind, but he quickly shoved it away. No need to startle her, not now, not as she was moving around the kitchen unearthing plates and cutlery as she hummed a discordant song beneath her breath.
They set the table in quiet coordination. Two bowls. Two glasses. A candle flickered low beside the plates. The moment felt gentle, almost ordinary. Almost enough.
The dumplings were, surprisingly, good. The companionship, even better. They ate in silence, the soft clink of chopsticks and glass the only sound between them.
Sig delicately nudged a dumpling through its pool of soy sauce, claws deft and deliberate. His antennae twitched once, twice, angled toward her.
“You’re carrying something,” he said quietly. “Not in your hands.”
Nell startled slightly. She’d just taken a bite and now choked it down wrong, coughing once before reaching for her water.
“Gods,” she rasped. “That’s creepy. You really shouldn’t be that perceptive over dinner.”
Sig only tilted his head, gaze calm and steady. With a sigh, Nell reached into the pocket of her cardigan and pulled out a folded scrap of paper.
“This was waiting on my desk when I got in,” she muttered, sliding it across the table. Sig unfolded the parchment slowly, like it might bite.
