Chapter 1
Hazel Watson lied to her family for the first time when she was seventeen.
It wasn’t a big lie. Just something small and quiet, the sort of thing that slips out and disappears before anyone catches it. At least, that’s what Hazel thought.
Outside her bedroom, the city lay still. Midnight wrapped everything in hush, and the streetlights left little pools of gold on the empty road. The old tree by her window rustled softly, leaves brushing the glass like they were sharing secrets she’d never hear.
Inside, the only thing lighting up Hazel’s room was her laptop. She sat cross-legged on her bed, wrapped in a grey blanket dotted with tiny stars. Her hair was a mess—she’d tied it up hours ago but it had half-fallen down now.
The clock on her nightstand glowed 1:13 a.m.
She should’ve been asleep. Her alarm would go off at 6:00.
But honestly? Hazel had found something way more interesting than sleep.
Her laptop pinged.
A notification popped up.
Hazel couldn’t help but smile.
A chat window opened.
She sat there for a second, fingers hovering over the keys, then started typing.
Hazel: You’re still awake?
Three dots blinked on the screen. Disappeared. Came back again.
Her heart thumped a little faster. It always did when she waited for his replies.
Finally, the message blinked in.
Matthew: I told you I don’t sleep early.
Hazel covered her mouth, stifling a laugh even though there was no one else in the room.
Matthew Carter.
Five months ago, he’d been just another stranger online.
Now she talked to him more than anyone.
They’d met in a random corner of the internet—a discussion forum about crime documentaries. Hazel wrote this long post about how a famous suspect had gotten a raw deal. A bit later, someone replied and started arguing with her. That was Matthew.
They debated for two hours. Argued for another. Then, for some reason, ended up swapping movie recommendations and talking about conspiracy theories until the sun came up.
After that, they never really stopped talking.
Hazel leaned forward and started typing again.
Hazel: You’re going to ruin my sleep schedule.
His reply came back fast.
Matthew: I’m not making you stay awake.
Hazel rolled her eyes.
Hazel: You totally are.
The typing bubble popped up right away.
Matthew: How?
Hazel grinned at the screen.
Hazel: You’re interesting.
He paused before writing back.
Matthew: Careful. Compliments like that might make my head explode.
Hazel laughed again, a little quieter.
She pulled her blanket tighter. The night air was cool against her skin.
Talking to Matthew was the highlight of her day.
He was four years older. Twenty-one. That felt practically ancient to Hazel.
He’d already finished university and worked in cybersecurity. She didn’t totally get what that meant, but it sounded impressive. And a little mysterious.
Her screen blinked again.
Matthew: What are you doing right now?
Hazel glanced around her room. Posters from crime shows and detective movies covered the walls. Her desk was buried under books about criminal psychology and famous cases.
She typed back.
Hazel: Sitting on my bed with my laptop. Probably destroying my future by not sleeping.
Matthew: You’re seventeen. One late night won’t kill your future.
Hazel leaned back, pressing her head against the wall.
Hazel: What about you?
Three dots.
Matthew: Working.
Hazel frowned a little.
Hazel: At 1 a.m.?
Matthew: Cybersecurity doesn’t care about time zones.
Hazel tried to picture him—maybe in some shadowy room, surrounded by computer screens. The thought made her smile.
Hazel: So you’re basically a hacker.
Matthew: I prefer “ethical security professional.”
Hazel: That sounds boring.
Matthew: And “hacker” sounds illegal.
Hazel: Exactly.
Matthew sent back a laughing emoji.
Hazel stared at it longer than she meant to.
It was weird. She’d never actually met him. Never heard his actual voice. The only photo she’d seen was some blurry shot he’d sent once.
But talking to him just felt easy. Like she’d known him forever.
Another message popped up.
Matthew: Hazel.
She froze for a second, fingers hovering. He almost never used her name like that—just once, direct.
Her heart skipped.
Hazel: Yeah?
A pause.
Matthew: Why do you want to be a detective so much?
Hazel stared at the question.
Most people just laughed when she said that. Her classmates thought it was odd. Teachers said it was unrealistic.
Not Matthew. He never laughed. He just asked questions—the real kind.
Hazel started typing.
Hazel: Because someone has to catch the bad people.
That does sound kind of heroic.
Hazel:It’s also just true.
A pause. Then her phone buzzed again.
Matthew:you’d actually be good at it.
Hazel blinked at the screen, her fingers hovering.
Hazel:How do you know that?
Matthew:You notice things no one else does.
Another message popped up.
Matthew:And you care.
Hazel stared at those words. Something warm fluttered in her chest. No one had ever told her anything like that before.
She typed back, slower this time.
Hazel:You’re just being nice.
Matthew:No.
He didn’t even wait a second.
Matthew:I’m saying it because it’s true.
Hazel felt that flutter again—sharper this time, almost like nerves. Before she could write anything, another message landed.
Matthew:Hazel, can I ask you something?
Her stomach twisted a little.
Hazel:Depends.
Matthew:Do your parents know you’re up right now?
Hazel’s fingers froze. Her eyes flicked to her bedroom door. Still closed. Everything was quiet.
She typed fast.
Hazel:No.
Matthew:You should probably sleep then.
Hazel grinned at the screen.
Hazel:You first.
Matthew:Not happening.
Hazel:Hypocrite.
Matthew:Absolutely.
She tried not to laugh but failed, a quiet giggle escaping. She glanced at the clock—1:47 a.m. Another hour gone without her noticing. Again.
She sighed.
Hazel:I should actually sleep.
Three dots popped up right away.
Matthew:You should.
Hazel hesitated, fingers hovering. For some reason, she didn’t want to end it. Not yet.
Hazel:Matthew?
Matthew:Yeah?
She paused, chewing her lip, then finally typed the question that had been scratching at her for weeks.
Hazel:Why do you talk to me every night?
Long silence. Longer than usual. Hazel’s chest tightened. Maybe she shouldn’t have asked—maybe it was weird.
Then his reply finally appeared.
Matthew:Because I like talking to you.
Hazel forgot to breathe for a second.
Another message.
Matthew:Is that a problem?
Her answer came quick.
Hazel:No.
She sent another right after.
Hazel:It’s not.
A beat passed.
Then—
Matthew:Good.
Hazel smiled, softer this time, just for herself. Outside, the hallway floor creaked. Hazel froze. Footsteps. Her heart jumped.
She slammed the chat window shut and clicked open a random school document. Her bedroom door nudged open. Her brother Daniel stood there, blinking and rumpled.
“Haze?” he mumbled.
Hazel tried to look innocent. “Yeah?”
Daniel frowned, squinting. “Why’s your light on?”
Hazel shrugged. “Homework.”
He eyed her for a second, not really buying it, then sighed. “Go to sleep.”
“I will.”
He nodded, shut the door, and shuffled away.
Hazel waited—five seconds, ten—then eased the chat back open.
A new message blinked.
Matthew:You disappeared.
Hazel let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding.
Hazel:My brother almost caught me.
Matthew:Caught you doing what?
Hazel grinned.
Hazel:Talking to a dangerous hacker at 2 a.m.
His reply was instant.
Matthew:Very dangerous.
Hazel closed her laptop, still smiling.
That night, Hazel Watson fell asleep thinking about someone she’d never met. Someone far away. Someone who, somehow, had become the best part of her nights.
She didn’t know that six years later, she’d see him again—not as the girl who stayed up until 2 a.m. smiling at a laptop, but as someone with a different name.
Agent Moon.
And when that day came, everything would get a lot more complicated.
