Abandoned Luna Now Untouchable (Cecilia) novel Chapter 228

Cecilia’s pov

The café tucked away in the alley was the kind of place you’d expect to find struggting novelists nursing lukewarm lattes and existential dread Exposed brick, mismatched furniture, faint jazz humming through old speakers. It was cozy, low-profile–perfect for staying off the radar.

Too perfect. Like someone designed it to feel non-threatening. That only made me more tense.

We’d been waiting forever. Or at least that’s how it felt. stirred my third cappuccino, watching the foam collapse in slow motion.

The bitterness barely registered. My nerves had already burned through the caffeine hours ago.

Tang groaned and sprawled across his chair like a bored teenager at Sunday brunch. “Is Evelyn even coming? Or did she ghost us for a hangover nap?”

Sawyer gave him a look that could’ve been filed under “told you so” in a courtroom. “Our lovely informant probably realized she’d rather not get involved in high-level intrigue today. Can we leave now, or are we still pretending this is a good idea?” I didn’t bother responding. Just kept stirring.

One hand under the table clenched into a fist, knuckles digging into my thigh. I needed them calm. I needed me calm.

“She said she’s waiting on a call from her contact,” I reminded them, eyes fixed on the café door. “Just give it time.”

They didn’t push. Maybe it was the tone of my voice. Maybe they were just as keyed-up as I was.

Last night’s conversation with Evelyn had made everything snap into place.

This wasn’t just some “regional diplomatic summit” Sebastian was attending.

It was the Moonveil Ascendancy.

Not a corporation. Not even a traditional crime syndicate.

More like a velvet-gloved power network : billionaires, tech moguls, political puppeteers–and the darker fringe types who never made the Forbes list but held just as much power.

It’s made up of private intelligence brokers, cybercriminals, sanctioned hackers, arms dealers.

People who didn’t play by the rules because they wrote their own.

A modern-day Illuminati, minus the theatrics, but with far more teeth.

The name had hit like a thunderbolt.

I’d heard it before–overheard it, actually–when Cassian was speaking to Sebastian.

They’d mentioned Maggie Locke.

Suddenly, everything made sense. This wasn’t diplomacy. This was infiltration.

And if Maggie Locke was involved, it wasn’t just dangerous–it was personal.

She hadn’t just orchestrated Cici’s escape.

She’d deliberately drawn me into her game at that masquerade ball. I wasn’t just collateral.

I was a target.

And Sebastian? He was walking straight into it. Blindfolded, trusting the wrong people, thinking he had control.

I stared down at the rim of my empty cup, the ghost of foam clinging to the porcelain like it had something left to say.

If he thought I was going to sit this one out, he didn’t know me at all.

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