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“Worried about me?” he murmurs, low and warm, voice dark as smoke curling up your spine.

“Worried about blood in my sauce.”

He laughs, soft but grating, and for a heartbeat, I forget to pull away from where my hand rests over his. His pulse beats steady under my palm, and gods damn it, there’s something about the way he looks at me when I forget to fight it, like I’m the only thing that exists. Like he's already sunk his claws in and is just waiting for me to notice the bleeding.

I yank my hand back.

He keeps chopping, this time with exaggerated care. “So,” he says casually, “do I get dessert if I behave?”

“I swear on all that’s unholy, Theo,”

“You’rechainedto me,” he cuts in smoothly. “Which makes me your problem now. Might as well embrace it. I’m very good at being… embraced.”

“I’m going to put you through a window.”

“Promises, promises.”

I dump the chopped mushrooms into the pan and turn up the heat. If this man survives to see the end of the week, it’ll be a miracle. Or an act of divine apathy. Either way, he’s not wrong. Heismy problem. And with the way this chain keeps us closer than I want to be, he’s not going anywhere.

The knife clatters down onto the counter as I wipe my hands on a towel, muttering curses under my breath in three different dead languages. “I forgot the fucking sage.”

Theo leans back against the fridge, arms folded, watching me with that infuriating smirk that never quite reaches his eyes. “And what a tragedy it is, truly. Will dinner survive?”

“I’m going to survive walking you straight into the garden bed face-first if you don’t shut up.”

He holds up our cuffed wrists, golden metal gleaming in the overhead light like it’s mocking me. “Then lead the way, darling. We’re bonded, soul to soul, wrist to wrist. I go where you go.”

“You go where Idragyou,” I hiss, snatching up the kitchen shears and tugging toward the back door, trying not to lose my balance as the damn cuff jerks when he deliberately lags.

The sun’s already dipping low, bleeding a bruised orange light across the horizon as we step into the backyard. The herb garden is tucked just off the stone path, my own sacred space carved out from the chaos of living with seven unrepentant sins and now... whatever the hellheis.

I kneel by the sage, trying to keep our conjoined wrists at a reasonable angle, but Theo doesn’t make it easy. He paces instead, circling lazily, which forces me to shuffle awkwardly in a crouch or get yanked upright like a cursed marionette.

“Could you stop moving?” I snap.

“Could you please sayplease?”

I shoot him a glare sharp enough to cut stone. “Theo. I swear. One more word and I’m planting you in the thyme.”

He sighs,sighs, like he’s the one being wronged, and drops into a crouch beside me, his knee brushing mine. The contact sends something strange skittering up my spine, and I loathe how aware I am of the heat coming off him, of the way he smells like cardamom and chaos.

I clip the sage carefully, pretending he doesn’t exist, even as the cuff shifts with every damn movement. “You’re in my light.”

“You’re in my life.”

“Unfortunately.”

He leans closer, voice pitched low with mock sincerity. “You wound me, Luna. Right here.” He presses his free hand to his chest like he’s pledging allegiance to my misery.

“I’ll aim lower next time.”

The shears click again, louder than it should be. I shove a fistful of sage toward him without meeting his eyes. “Hold this.”

“You know,” he says, twirling one of the leaves between his fingers like it's a fine cigar, “this is kind of romantic. You. Me. The sunset. Mutual loathing.”

“It’s mutual homicidal intent,” I mutter, brushing dirt from my knee and standing. “Let’s go. The others are going to notice you’re still alive and assume I’ve gone soft.”

He chuckles and follows, only half a step behind, always close, always tethered. I hate the way the cuff reminds me with every breath that I can’t shake him. That no matter how fast I move, how sharp I cut, he’s stillthere. Unwanted and impossible to ignore.