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Silas raises an eyebrow. “Why not both?”
“Of course,” Orin mutters. “Why choose chaos when you can devour it instead.”
I don’t want to laugh. I shouldn’t laugh. But I do. Just once. A sharp exhale through my nose. It’s enough to crack the anger holding my jaw too tightly.
Silas hears it.
His head snaps toward me like a dog spotting a treat and decides now is the time to shine.
“I knew it,” he says, triumphant. “My loaf has range.”
Elias groans. “Stop talking.”
Silas isn’t done. “No, no, let me have this. She laughed. You all heard it. I brought joy into a grief space.”
“You brought yeast into a grief space,” Lucien corrects.
Orin sighs like he’s praying for divine intervention.
Silas drops the baguette like it offended him. “Well, fine. Next time, I’ll bring a cursed dagger or something. Something on brand.”
“You are the cursed dagger,” I say without thinking.
Silas beams. “Luna.”
Elias makes a strangled noise.
The house smells like smoke and spite, but they’re already rebuilding. Lucien’s issuing orders. Orin’s speaking to the stones themselves, coaxing the runes to rebind, listening to the old magic in the floor groan back into alignment. Riven’s pacing like if he stops moving, he’ll combust.
And I, I’m standing in the wreckage, trying to convince my bones they’re still mine.
“I swear to the Hollow, if you don’t move your naked ass out of the doorway, I’m going to hex your hairline.” Elias’s voice cuts across the hall, sharp and theatrical.
“I called dibs on the shower!” Silas fires back, arms flung wide in melodramatic offense. “I nearly died getting that bread.”
“You nearly died eating that bread,” Elias retorts, hands on hips. “You choked on your dramatic flour cloud. I had to slap your back like you were a cursed toddler.”
“You slapped me because you liked it,” Silas purrs, tilting his head and blinking slowly. “It’s okay to admit it, Elias. The urge to spank me is strong in many.”
“Oh my god.” Elias presses a palm to his forehead. “You are the reason my libido is a self-sabotaging trash fire.”
“You say that like it’s my fault your coping mechanisms include sarcasm, bondage, and unmedicated lust.”
“I will hex you bald,” Elias hisses. “I’m serious.”
“Please,” Silas says with a grin. “My hair is the only thing keeping me morally anchored. If I lose that, I become unhinged. Like Riven, but with flair.”
“I can hear you,” Riven growls from the corner.
“Good,” Silas chirps. “I project for clarity.”
I lean against what’s left of the hallway frame, watching them like I’m viewing a very beautiful, very cursed stage production.
“You both smell like blood and dirt,” I say flatly. “And if you don’t stop arguing, I’ll spell you into the shower together.”
Silas brightens. “Oh, don’t threaten me with a good time, ”
Elias groans. “Please. He’ll enjoy it. Don’t give him what he wants.”