Page 152

Luna
Layla’s voice is quiet, muffled by the curve of my thigh, but there’s a brittle edge to it that tells me she’s already run the scenario a dozen ways in her head before asking. Her eyes are open, watching them the same way I am, like we’re staring at wolves who forgot they weren’t supposed to bare their teeth at the ones they swore to protect.
“No,” I murmur, fingers still threading through her tangled hair, “it’s not normal.”
Silas tries to act subtle. But he’s the kind of idiot who thinks glancing over his shoulder every few seconds while pretending to stretch is stealth. His gaze cuts toward me again, quick, but not quick enough, and when our eyes meet, he winces, caught. Then he does the most Silas thing imaginable: he grins. Wide. Boyish. Shameless.
“Gods,” Layla breathes, closing her eyes like she can shut it all out. “What are they planning?”
I wish I could lie. I wish I could say they’re just talking strategy, that they’re worried about the next monster clawing its way out of the void, or mapping our next move toward whatever passes for safety out here. But I know them too well. The way Orin’s shoulders don’t move, how Lucien is sitting forward, his forearms on his knees like he’s about to issue a decree. Elias is there, too, trying not to look as serious as he feels, and Riven,gods, even Riven looks like he hasn’t snarled in ten whole minutes, which is terrifying on its own.
“They’re deciding something,” I say. “Something they don’t want us to be part of.”
Layla hums, exhausted, but her voice sharpens with something that might be fear or fury. “Do you think it’s about Severin?”
“Yes,” I say without hesitation. Because it is. It always is.
And even though I don’t know what they’re thinking, I know the shape of it. I know the way Silas avoids my gaze one second and holds it too long the next. I know the ache that coils low in my gut when Riven glances over, eyes storm-dark and unreadable. I know Lucien, especially Lucien, and I can feel the weight of his silence like a blade waiting to fall.
“They’re going to ask us to do something we won’t like,” I say. My fingers still in Layla’s hair. “Something that feels like a choice, but it won’t be.”
Layla doesn’t answer. But her hand finds mine, and she laces our fingers together like a lifeline, like we’re two halves of the same thread already being pulled taut.
Whatever they’re planning… I’ll find out.
And if they’re thinking of using her, if they’re thinking of offering her up to Severin like a sacrificial peace, I’ll burn every one of them down before I let that happen.
Silas stands up like he’s just realized he has legs. He brushes his hands down his thighs once. Then again. Then a third time. He’s stalling. His fingers flick off nonexistent dust, his body language an open book for once, and I read every page like it’s written in blood. He’s nervous. And when Silas is nervous, something is very, very wrong.
He turns toward me, mouth already forming some poor excuse for words, but Elias sweet, chaotic Elias, doesn’t let him get that far. He plants both hands on Silas’s back and shoves.Not hard enough to hurt, just enough to say, “Get the fuck on with it,” in the way only Elias can. Silas stumbles two steps forward, flailing like a man sent to his execution, and when he catches himself, he turns just enough to glare over his shoulder. Elias is already leaning back with his arms folded, whistling like he’s innocent.
They’ve chosen him. They’ve chosen my Silas to deliver this. The one I’m bonded to. The one who tries to hide how much he adores me behind stupid jokes and cringeworthy pick-up lines. The one who would rather eat glass than see me cry.
Which means this is going to hurt.
My breath catches in my throat before he even speaks. He stops a few feet from me, shifting from one foot to the other, hands shoved into his pockets now like maybe he’ll find courage hiding there. He offers me a smile, that stupid, crooked one he uses when he’s trying too hard not to cry or laugh or scream.
“Hey,” he says. Just that. Soft. Awful.
I stare at him. Wait.
He rocks on his heels. “Soooo… you know how sometimes you love someone so much you just… don’t want them to, like… hate you forever?”
Oh gods.
I narrow my eyes. “Silas.”
“Right, right, yeah. Okay. So.” He clears his throat, visibly swallows, then blurts out in a single breath, “We think we might have to offer Layla to Severin.”
The world doesn’t stop. It tilts.
My blood goes cold.
He rushes forward, hands raised like he can catch the words midair and shove them back in. “Not like that, I swear. We don’t want to, Luna. We don’t. But we’re stuck, and she’s the only one Severin actually wants, and if we can use that to trap him, just trap him, not hurt her, I swear on everything, not hurt her, ”
I stand. Not quickly. Not violently. But the way his face falls when I move tells me he knows. He knows.
“Get away from me,” I whisper.