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I laugh quietly, shaking my head. “And yet... here you are. Stumbling around like a kicked puppy every time she’s not looking at you.”
He glares at me like I’ve betrayed him. “You know what your problem is? You sound like Lucien when you’re trying to be insightful. Except with more ‘I told you so’ and fewer death threats.”
“And your problem,” I say softly, seriously, “is that you’re lying to yourself.”
The humor fades from his eyes, but his mouth still twitches like he wants to deflect, to dodge the weight of what I just said. I don’t let him. I meet his gaze and hold it. Steady. Patient.
“You care about her,” I say. “And that bond whether you want it or not, is already forming. Pretending you don’t feel it won’t stop it from tightening.”
Elias looks away first. He always does when it’s real. When it cuts too close.
“She’s…” he begins, then stops, mouth pressing into a hard line. “She’s dangerous.”
“Yes,” I agree. “But not in the way you think.”
He doesn’t answer again. Just walks on ahead, head bowed slightly like he’s bracing for a storm.
And behind him, I glance back at Luna at the girl who shifts our gravity without trying, who holds pieces of each of us and doesn’t even know it. She will bind us, whether we want it or not.
And Elias... poor fool... he’s already hers.
I watch Elias fidget with the edge of his sleeve like it’s suddenly the most interesting thing in the realm. He’s quiet too long, which for Elias, is suspicious. He doesn’t usually let silence linger, he fills it with noise, sarcasm, and ill-timed jokes. But right now, he’s humming under his breath, low and aimless, a hollow tune to fill the gap where honesty should be.
So I ask, gently, “What are you afraid of?”
He scoffs, sharp and too fast. “Afraid? Me? Please.” He waves a hand like the idea itself is absurd. “I’m allergic to commitment, not cowardice.”
I wait. Because that’s what I do. Time is a luxury I can afford, my age has made me greedy for it. And Elias hates silence when it’s pointed, when it stares at him with expectations.
Eventually, he sighs, dragging his fingers through his hair, ruffling it until it stands in ridiculous spikes. “It’s not her, okay?” he mutters. “It’s not her. She’s…” He trails off, mouth twitching, like the next word might hurt. “She’s already too much. And I’m not exactly equipped for too much. I’m built for one-night problems and dramatic exits.”
I tilt my head, studying him. “And yet you haven’t left.”
His lips press together, the humor slipping. “Because I’m an idiot.”
“No,” I say quietly. “Because you care.”
He shakes his head, frustrated now. “You don’t get it. If I bind to her, it’s not just about me and her. It’s about us. All of us. She’s already in everything. In every step we take, every breath, every choice. She’s rewriting us, Orin. Rewriting me. And I don’t know who the hell I’m going to be when she’s finished.”
I catch the faint sound of her laugh echoing behind us. Silas is clearly telling another ridiculous story, and she’s letting him have his moment. Letting all of us have ours. She doesn’t even realize what she’s doing, what kind of force she is.
“You’re not afraid of her,” I murmur. “You’re afraid she’s the one thing you’ll never joke away.”
Elias goes still. Then he shrugs like it’s nothing. Like my words didn’t just carve a wound across the truth he’s been trying to smother.
“She’s going to break me,” he says finally, too quiet for anyone else to hear.
“She might,” I admit, voice soft. “But maybe you’ll survive it better than you think.”
Elias glances at me sidelong, the usual mischief gone from his expression. He’s all sharp corners and unsaid things today, the kind of quiet that doesn’t sit comfortably on his shoulders. We walk in step, boots crunching over bone-dry earth that hasn't known softness in centuries. Whatever part of the Rift we’ve wandered into feels ancient and restless, like the ground itself remembers war.
He kicks at a stone and mutters, “And what about you?”
I weigh my words before I let them go, because once spoken, they can’t be pulled back. And with Elias, carelessness is contagious. If I’m not deliberate, I’ll say something I can’t unsay.
“I will,” I say at last, voice steady. “I’ll bind to her when she’s ready.”
Elias snorts. “That’s a conveniently vague way of saying never.”