Page 165

Lucien
I watch her return through the thinning treeline, her fingers grazing Elias’ arm as he mutters something low and half-smirking, probably trying to lighten the aftermath of everything that’s cracked beneath them. Elias is doing damage control in his way, sarcasm as armor, self-deprecation as offering, but Luna doesn’t laugh. Not really. She smiles, but it’s strained. Tight. Like something has settled heavy in her bones, and she’s carrying it in silence because none of us know how to hold it with her.
Silas is seated near the far side of the camp, carving lines into the dirt with a stick like he’s trying to find some ancient meaning in the earth. He doesn’t look up when she returns. He hasn’t since the fight. Since she shoved him back with that fury in her eyes and refused to hear him out. And I don’t blame her. But I also know we failed her. I failed her. I should’ve been the one.
So I rise.
Not with ceremony. Not with words. I just move through the space between us like it belongs to me. Like I can still command it. Because I can. With everyone but her.
“Luna,” I say.
She freezes at the sound of my voice. Her spine stiffens, and she turns slowly, eyes narrowing before she even sees me fully.Elias opens his mouth, probably to make some joke or throw himself between us, but one glance from me quiets him. For once, he gets it.
“Walk with me,” I say. It’s not a request.
She hesitates.
And then she moves.
We drift away from the firelight, away from the gazes of the others, into the half-shadow of trees where night presses closer, but doesn’t feel suffocating. Not yet.
“I should have been the one to tell you,” I begin, voice low, not apologetic but quieter than I usually allow it to be. “It wasn’t Silas’s burden. I made the call. I pushed for it. I believed, and still believe, that it’s our only way out.”
“Then you’re just as fucked as the rest of them,” she says, stopping short, arms crossed like she’s daring me to flinch. “At least Silas looked like it hurt. You? You’re a fucking statue.”
I step closer. Not enough to invade her space, but enough to remind her that I could. That I’ve never had to raise my voice to make someone fall to their knees.
But not her.
Never her.
“You think pain looks like flinching?” I murmur. “I don’t bleed where you can see it, Luna. Doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen.”
She laughs, sharp and disbelieving. “Is this your idea of empathy? A little late for that, don’t you think?”
“No,” I say, voice steel beneath silk. “This is clarity. You want to be mad at someone? Be mad at me. You want to hate someone? Hate me. But don’t take it out on Silas. He carried it because we asked him to.”
She stares at me, and something falters behind her eyes. Just a flicker. Enough for me to see the edge of something cracked and afraid beneath all that rage.
“She’s my sister,” she whispers. “She’s all I have left.”
And I nod. Once. Because I understand that better than she knows.
“And you are all she has,” I reply. “That’s why we didn’t decide for her. We brought it to you first. Because if there’s anyone she’d choose to fight for, it’s you.”
Silence blooms between us like a bruise. Deep. Spreading. But not as hopeless as before.
I look at her, this girl who refuses to bend, who spits in the face of gods and monsters alike, and I hate that I admire her for it. I hate that I can’t force her into obedience the way I can everyone else. That she looks at me like I’m the mistake. The danger.
But maybe she’s right.
Still, I lower my voice, that thread of command sharpening even as I try to keep it from slicing too deep.
“If we stay here, we die. Slowly. Piece by piece. You know it. I know it. Severin has all the time in the world to wait us out. Unless someone gives him what he wants.”
“And you’re willing to sacrifice her for that,” she snaps.
“No,” I say. “I’m willing to fight to make sure no one has to be sacrificed. But if it comes down to choosing between watching you both get devoured, or buying us time to save you both, I will choose the only path that gives us a fucking chance.”