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“And what do you think I’m going to do with it now?” she whispers.

I brush a lock of hair behind her ear, finally. My hand lingers at the side of her throat, pulse fluttering fast beneath my thumb.

“I think,” I say quietly, “you’re going to unravel us. Again. All over.”

Her breath catches. And for the first time tonight, she doesn’t feel distant.

She feels likefire. Like reckoning.

And I remember what Theo always said.

Desire doesn’t seduce.

Desirestarves.

And we are so very, very hungry.

She steps back from my hand like it burns, and maybe it does. Maybe my touch reminds her that I kept this from her. That we all did.

“I won’t do it,” she says, voice flat, final. “I don’t care how sad his little exile story is, I don’t care whatyouall buried, I don’t care if he was your long-lost eighth. Theo isnotpart of my story. Not part of my life. And no one,no one, can make me change that.”

She turns fully, eyes shining now, not from softness but conviction, wild and sharp as starlight. “You all keep saying he’s dangerous. That hemakesyou want. Then why would I ever put him near me? Why would I ever,”

She stops. Her jaw clenches. But the thought is there. Theweightof it.

I feel it like a stone dragged against my chest.

Her breath shudders. “Would you be okay with that?” Her voice dips, low and bitter. “Would you be okay lettinghiminto my bed?”

The question slams into me. And it’s not that I don’t have an answer. It’s that I havetoo many. Yes. No. Not a fucking chance. I’d rather tear him apart with my hands and salt the ruins. I’d rather die a thousand deaths across a thousand timelines than watch him,touchher.

But I am not wrath. I am not pride. I am what endures. What watches. What waits.

So I breathe. And I give her what she deserves.

“I don’t want to think about it,” I say. “Not because I’m indifferent. Because the idea of him touching you,claimingyou, makes something inside me go still.”

She watches me, expression unreadable. But she’s listening. That I can feel.

“I don’t like him, Luna. I never did. And I don’t trust him. I don’t trust his power, or what it would do to you, or how it twists the people around him.”

I pause, then lift my gaze to hers, steady and sure.

“But I also know we don’t get to pre-write the ending. We don’t get to tell you who to love or who to hate. We don’t get to burn bridges before you’ve even seen where they might lead.”

Her throat works, swallowing something she doesn’t want to feel.

“Lucien would rather kill him,” she mutters. “Rivenalmostdid. Elias keeps making threats with egg timers and forks. And Silas,”

“Silas is planning to poison his mouthwash,” I say. “Yes, I know.”

A breath of a laugh escapes her. Just one. Barely there. But itcounts.

“I’m not saying I want this,” I say, stepping toward her again. “And I’m not saying you should. But if you decide to slam every door in Theo’s face, Luna, make sure you’re the one doing it. Not because we made you afraid. Not because we couldn’t handle our past.”

I reach for her again, slower this time. My palm opens at her side, and she doesn’t flinch.

“This story isyours.”