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We always have been.

But now we’re weapons in a war that was never ours.

And neither of us will leave this battlefield whole.

He lunges at her. Not like a man. Like something broken. A hollowed-out body draped in the memory of Caspian Vael, wearing his skin like armor but moving with none of the purpose that made him dangerous. This isn’t seduction turned sharp. This isn’t a weapon polished to gleam. It’s the echo of a command he can’t resist, dragging him toward Luna with a growl sodefeatedit makes my chest tighten.

And Luna—godsdamnLuna—she doesn’t run.

She justwatcheshim come for her like she’s already decided he won’t do it. Like belief is enough to stop a blade. Like her stubborn refusal to see the worst in us is anything but a fucking liability.

I see the moment too late. The angle of his stance. The flicker of something too fast to track. And I know. Iknowexactly what’s about to happen because I’ve seen it in other rooms, other lives. The choice made before it even reaches the surface.

So I move. I move like I’ve already accepted what it’s going to cost me.

My body slams between them as the blade flashes, a slip of obsidian barely visible until itis. Until it’s alreadyin me.

The pain is sharp, quick, personal.

It slips between my ribs like it belongs there, like it was made for me. A kiss from Caspian’s better judgment too late to matter. I hear him gasp as the impact registers, like he didn’t mean it—like Branwen’s magic might’ve guided the hand, but he still feels the weight of the wound.

I don’t look at him.

I look ather.

And what I see isnothing. No panic. No scream. No flinch. Just Luna, standing there with her goddamn jaw tight and her eyes wide and her power just beneath her skin like it’swaitingfor me to get out of the fucking way.

“Get the fuck back,” I snap, the words raw, more bark than speech. My breath hitches around the blade, and I feel the warmth of blood sliding down my side, slicking through fabric like a secret spilling out of me.

She doesn’t move. Because in her head, Caspian’s still one ofus. Still safe. Still hers.

Fuckingstupidgirl.

I press my hand against the wound as I stagger sideways, forcing myself between them again, even though I know he’s stopped now—shaking, shocked, horrified at what he’s done. But that doesn’t mean he won’t try again. Not withherstanding there like she’s untouchable. Like belief in fate is stronger than magic meant tobreakher.

“You’re going to get yourself killed,” I grit out, still not looking at Caspian. Not yet. Not until I know she’s listening.

“You’re bleeding,” she whispers.

I spit blood on the ground at her feet. “You’re welcome.”

And still, she doesn’t move.

Because that’s what shedoes, isn’t it? Stays. Waits.Believes.

And me?

I’m the fool who takes a blade in the ribs for a girl who can’t beowned—because for one stupid fucking second, I didn’t want to watch her fall.

Her hands are on me before I can stop her.

Small, sure palms pressing into the wound. There’s no hesitation. No flinch. Just pressure—sharp, deliberate, intimate. The kind that says she’s done this before, bled for people who didn’t deserve it, patched wounds while the world burned down around her feet.

“Don’t,” I growl, but it comes out too quiet, too late. Her fingers are already slick with my blood.

“It’s just a flesh wound,” she says, like that means anything. Like the blade sliding between my ribs wasn’t meant for her heart. “But it’s still bleeding.”

“I’m aware.”