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Theo is quiet.

“His abs were ridiculous,” I add, and my voice cracks halfway through the sentence. “Like carved-from-celestial-marble ridiculous. I used to stare at them when he wasn’t looking. Once, he caught me and just smirked. Didn’t even say anything. Bastard.”

Theo huffs a sound that’s not quite a laugh. “I knew you were shallow.”

“Shut up.”

“You were eye-fucking his divine six-pack.”

“I will punch you.”

“Not while you’re lying against me like a feral cat who forgot she hates people.”

His mouth is close to my temple now. I feel the smile in his voice, but it’s not smug. It’s gentle. And that’s worse. I’d rather he be cruel. Cruel would be easier.

“You want to talk about abs, Luna?” he murmurs. “You’ve been sneaking glances at mine for days.”

I freeze.

He shifts behind me, just enough that I can feel the solid line of his body molded to mine. He doesn’t press, doesn’t lean in. He waits.

“Yours are… fine,” I say.

“Liar.”

“They’re passable.”

He chuckles, low and dark, the sound rumbling through his chest and into my spine.

I twist, slowly, just enough to look at him, and gods help me, I shouldn’t have. He’s watching me like I’m a secret worth keeping. Eyes half-lidded, mouth soft, nothing hungry in the expression, but it still drags a molten streak down my body.

“This is going to ruin everything,” I say, and I hate how raw it sounds. “You know that.”

“Then let it.”

My breath comes faster, heart clawing at the walls of my chest. The words taste like betrayal. But it’s not him I’m betraying.

It’s them.

I see them when I close my eyes. Caspian’s hands cradling my jaw. Ambrose’s mouth pressed to my wrist before every battle like a vow. Lucien’s broad shoulders in the moonlight, the way he knelt for me, not as a soldier, but as a man. Silas grinningwith blood on his chin and love in his eyes. Riven holding me after nightmares, his voice a quiet thunder, promising war for every bruise I ever wore.

“I love them,” I say, fierce now, as if that alone can anchor me. “I love them more than anything.”

Theo nods once. “I know.”

“I’m bonded to them.”

“I know that, too.”

“I would kill for them.”

“And yet,” he says, tilting his head, “you’re here. With me.”

I realize with a sudden, horrifying clarity that he’s not jealous of them. Not afraid of them. He accepts them. What terrifies me is how much he accepts me.

“I didn’t ask for this,” I whisper.

“No,” he agrees, “but you’re still reaching.”