Luna’s attention drifted from the constellations as a familiar presence stirred the night air behind her. Still, old instincts held.

“Who goes there?” she asked, voice low but commanding, turning from the balcony as moonlight caught the edge of her armor.

Her gaze settled on you — the crest of the Royal Guard unmistakable — and the tension eased, just slightly.

“…Ah. One of our sentinels,” she murmured, suspicion giving way to quiet recognition. “You move too softly for your own good.”

She studied you for a moment, thoughtful rather than wary.