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“I’ll know which ones to touch,” she says. “I just don’t know if I want to.”
I snort. “Welcome to our world.”
Lucien elbows me sharply. “Not helping.”
“I’m not here to help,” I mutter, stepping away from them both.
I walk toward the rocks, pretending I’m checking the ridge for movement. I’m not.
I just can’t look at Luna again.
Not until we leave.
Not until I’m sure I won’t walk back and drag her with me just to stop that fucking heartbreak from sitting on her face like it belongs there.
I don’t do soft.
Not even for her.
Especially not for her.
Layla walks between us like she’s already left. Not in her body, no, she’s still here, boots scuffing the earth, braid swinging with every step, but in her bones, she’s halfway gone. Tired. Hollow in a way that reads more like clarity than weakness. She’s made her decision, and it burns through her with a quiet finality that even I won’t touch.
She doesn’t cry. Doesn’t cling. Just walks the path like it’s carved into her skin.
Lucien stays to her right, silent for a while, gaze flicking out toward the horizon where the ground blackens. He’s reading the Hollow like it’s a map no one else can see, watching for movement, for magic, for things that no longer have names.
“The Sub-Sins aren’t like us,” he says, voice low and deliberate. “We were made whole. Fractured later, maybe, but still born as full entities. Theirs were born already torn.”
Layla glances at him. Sharp-eyed, curious. She doesn’t ask questions, not yet. Just listens.
Lucien continues. “They were extracted. Spliced. Pieces of desire and power and rage pulled out of the Originals. They were never meant to survive. But they did.”
I smirk. “Mistake number one. Severin thinking anything cut from sin would just… die.”
Lucien doesn’t argue. “Each of them was meant to represent the excess. What couldn’t be balanced. That’s what makes you different, Layla.”
Her brows pull together. “Because I can?”
“Because you were born to,” he says. “You’re not their prison. You’re the tether. Without you, they spiral. Bind themselves to mortals. Feed off their flaws until there’s nothing left but ash.”
“And with me?”
“They’ll burn slower,” I mutter.
Lucien shoots me a look, but he doesn’t correct it.
Layla nods like she already knew. Maybe not the words. But the shape of it. She’s not afraid, and that’s the part that unsettles me.
She should be.
Lucien tilts his head toward her, thoughtful. “Each Sub-Sin mirrors one of us. They’ll gravitate toward you like gravity itself has teeth. You won’t need to ask who’s who. You’ll know.”
“Will they know me?” she asks.
Lucien’s jaw ticks. “They’ll know enough.”
“And if I fail?”