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She doesn’t slow. “Don’t.”

The word’s a lash, but I take it. I deserve it. I don’t try to reason. There’s nothing rational about asking her to share a home with what we just left behind.

She turns to face me, abruptly, fire coiled in every inch of her.

“You knew,” she says, low and vicious.

“No,” I say, just as fast. “Not until he walked through the door.”

She watches me for a long second. And for once, I can’t read what she sees.

Then, footsteps. Too casual.Too fucking familiar.

Theo’s voice drifts into the hallway like perfume laced with something chemical and dangerous.

“Gods, you two move fast for immortals. You’d think we were on a timer.”

Luna’s head jerks back toward the sound. “Why are you following me?”

“Because,” he says, finally emerging from the office like sin unwrapped, “Blackwell toldhimto bring me home. And you’re both headed there, so,” he gestures loosely, “consider me cargo.”

“You’re not coming to my house,” she snaps.

Theo clicks his tongue. “Technically, it’sourhouse, if I’m one of the boys now. Do I get a chore chart? Bedroom with a view? A corner of the fridge for my demons?”

I step between them before she sets him on fire with her stare alone. “You don’t speak to her.”

Theo raises an eyebrow. “Then I’ll just stare. I’m a great listener. Especially when people sayno,like it’s a challenge.”

Luna exhales a short, furious breath and spins away again, heading for the back staircase.

And he follows.

Like he’s always belonged in our shadows.

Silas

The tea is cold. Forgotten. I hold the mug anyway, mostly out of spite. The ceramic’s warm enough to convince me I’m doing something useful while my thumbs fly over the screen, text after text, none of them answered.

You dead?

Are we plotting murder again, or is it your day off?

Tell Blackwell to go shove a book up his parchment-stained,

Nothing.

I squint through the sunlit haze filtering in from the arched window beside the main hall, where the old ivy has started choking the stone again. We cut it back every summer. It always comes back thicker. Like it’s challenging us.

The path leading up to the academy gleams silver in the late light. The moss between the stones still glows faintly from that enchantment Orin layered in last spring, just enough to mark where the boundary ends and the divine mess begins.

And then, movement.

A speck. Too purposeful to be a bird. Too pissed-off to be anyonebut her.

Luna. Storming up the path like the ground personally insulted her. Hoodie drawn tight, hair wind-whipped and wild, mouth carved into a line sharp enough to draw blood.

Behind her, one pace back, is Lucien, all calculated stillness and coiled restraint. Which means he’sfurious. Which means someone’s going to die. Probably accidentally. Possibly on purpose.