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“Then perhaps,” Blackwell says, “she needs time to remember who she is when she’s not with any of you.”

The fury in me doesn’t burn,it freezes. Solidifies. I look at Luna now, at the way her jaw tightens, the war behind her eyes. I want to tear the cuff from her wrist. I want to tear Theo limb from limb.

But Blackwell is right about one thing: we didn’t let her handle it.

We tried to shape the outcome before it was ever hers to claim.

That won’t happen again.

I step back. Just once. But I feel it,every other Sin resisting it. A force of habit. Of love. Of possession.

Blackwell just leans back in his chair, folds his hands, and says, “Now. If you’re finished posturing, I suggest you all go home. The cuffs won’t come off until she’s made her choice. And no amount of wrath, dominion, envy, lust, or greed is going to change that.”

He pauses. Smiles at Luna.

“Desire, however,that remains to be seen.”

And that’s the moment I know.

He didn’t just allow Theo back. Heengineeredhim into the center of us. And now, the storm we’ve been trying to keep outside? It’s already inside the house.

Riven slams his palm down on the edge of Blackwell’s desk, the crack of it sharp enough to make the scroll flutter. “How the fuck is she supposed to sleep? Or change clothes? Or take a goddamnshowerwith him chained to her like a,”

“Like a consequence?” Blackwell cuts in smoothly. “A side effect of your inability to listen?”

I step forward again before Riven lunges. My hand grazes his shoulder, not stopping him,he wouldn’t stop for anyone,but reminding him that I’mstill here. That we all are. That we have to play thissmarterthan we’ve been playing it.

“Answer the question,” I say flatly, my gaze locked on Blackwell. “How is she supposed to function like this?”

“She’ll function.” Blackwell waves one hand like that explains the whole thing. “The cuffs allow for necessary movement. Dressing. Bathing. Privacy,when earned. But the range is limited, and the proximity enforced.”

Silas mutters, “Earned privacy. What the actual,”

“And,” Blackwell continues, louder, “should any of you attempt to remove her again,physically, magically, emotionally,the cuffs will respond. They will shorten.”

Ambrose laughs once, dark and low. “You’re making her a prisoner.”

“No,” Blackwell says, too calmly. “I’m making her accountable.”

Luna hasn’t said a word. Not since we walked in. She stands to my left, cuffed wrist barely raised, as if refusing to give the metal more weight than it deserves. But I canfeelit,the sharp coil of humiliation winding inside her. The betrayal. The need to rage and scream and destroy something just to get asliverof her autonomy back.

And she can’t. Because we made this worse.

“Shorten?” Orin says, voice like stone. “You’d leash them tighter?”

“I’m not leashing anyone,” Blackwell replies. “I’m simply letting gravity do its work. The more interference, the more reaction. Keep tugging, and you’ll pull them closer. That’s physics. Evenyouknow that.”

Riven growls low under his breath, fury barely contained. “So if I touch him,if I evenlookat him the wrong way,she’s punished?”

“She isnotbeing punished,” Blackwell says, finally standing. His full height isn’t imposing by size,but byage. He moves like something old enough to have rewritten the laws beneath our feet. “She is beingobserved. And if she’s as certain of her convictions as you all believe, then the cuff will fall away as easily as it snapped on.”

I glance at Luna then. She still hasn’t moved. Her eyes are locked on the floor, but the color in her cheeks is rising, not from shame,but fromcontrol. She’s not broken. She’s waiting. Calculating.

So am I.

“And if the rest of us just leave them alone?” I ask. “Let them figure it out.”

Blackwell nods once. “Then perhaps she can. If she choosesno, the cuff will fall. If she choosesyes, it stays. But either way, it will beherdecision. Not yours. And that, Lucien, is what you all have forgotten how to allow.”