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“I wasn’t, ” His voice cracks. “We weren’t going to, Luna, please. We just, ”
“Wanted to talk about it?” I echo, vicious. “That’s why you had a little secret huddle like a bunch of cowards? That’s why they sent you, the bonded one, the soft one, the one who could take the heat because they knew I wouldn’t tear out your fucking heart?”
He flinches like I actually might.
And maybe I would.
Because this isn’t a plan. It’s a betrayal packaged in strategy. It’s survival dressed up as sacrifice.
And they thought I wouldn’t see it.
“You think I can’t feel it?” I hiss. “The guilt crawling off you like it’s contagious? You think sending you was going to make it easier?”
“I didn’t want to come,” Silas says, voice low and raw. “But I couldn’t let them say it. Not to you.”
“You didn’t let them say anything, Silas. You agreed.”
That silences him. He doesn’t deny it. Doesn’t even try.
I hear Layla behind me, her breath catching like she’s trying not to cry. And gods, I can’t take the sound of her heartbreak, not again. Not when it’s caused by the people I trusted to protect her.
“They knew exactly what they were doing,” I say, stepping back from him, but not softening. “They used you. Because if I were going to bleed anyone for this, it wouldn’t be you.”
Silas swallows hard, and I see the exact moment he makes himself say it. The betrayal doesn’t come in the shape of a blade, it's softer, crueller. It comes dressed in confession.
“I love you,” he says, voice low and earnest like that could fix the fracture he just carved into me. “And I’m sorry. But this… this is for the best.”
The best. My mouth curls in something cold and humorless. The best. For who?
Layla stiffens behind me. Her fingers twitch where they’d been loosely curled over her lap, and I know that whatever strength she had left has just been siphoned out of her.
Silas presses on, like saying the truth faster will make it hurt less. “Layla… she can stop Severin. She’s the only one who can. You know it, Luna.”
I don’t respond. Not yet. I want to see how far down he’s willing to fall to justify this.
He shifts, breath ragged now. “We have to go after Caspian and Ambrose. We have to get out of this fucking place. And Severin, he’s not going to let us leave unless he gets Layla. That’s what this whole goddamn maze has been. A stalling tactic.”
“And so what?” I ask, voice hollow and echoing. “You hand her over like she’s a peace offering?”
“No!” Silas shakes his head so hard it’s almost violent. “We’re not handing her over. We’re not sacrificing her. We just need to talk to her, ask her. Maybe there’s a way to, ”
“To what?” I snap, standing. “Use her?”
His expression shatters. Because he knows. That’s exactly what this is. Pretty words trying to dress up the ugliness of strategy. Sacrifice wrapped in the illusion of choice.
“You love me,” I say slowly, deliberately, “but you’d gamble with my sister’s life to make your life easier.”
His mouth opens, then closes. There’s nothing he can say that I’ll accept.
Because love isn’t real if it comes with conditions.
Layla’s fingers find mine. Her grip is faint, but grounding. I feel her.
And that’s what they’ll never understand.
She’s not a key. She’s not a shortcut.
She’s mine.