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I drag my thumb across her jaw, slow, deliberate, the spell of my sloth magic still wrapped soft around us both.

“Now?” I echo, voice low, curling around her like a promise. “Now you survive, Moon. Whether you want to or not.”

And when her lips part like she’s about to argue, to remind me what fate has always said about Binders and the fifth crest, I lean in, close enough to breathe her in, and cut her off before she can.

“Because you married us,” I murmur, voice dipping to something dark and dangerous. “And we’re not letting you go.”

Her breath hitches faint against my skin, but it’s no longer sharp, no longer tight with the weight of prophecy and the fifth crest suffocating her. It’s softer now, looser at the edges like she’s crawling her way back to herself and using me to do it.

Good. I’ll let her.

I feel the curve of her smile before I see it, her mouth pressed against my throat like she’s trying to hide it, but it’s there—wicked and warm.

“You know,” she says, voice lazy now, drowsy but sharp underneath, “if we’re going by the whole marriage-without-the-paperwork thing… you probably should’ve taken me on a honeymoon.”

The laugh rips out of me before I can stop it, rough and dark and entirely too fond. I lean my head back against the pillow, grinning up at the ceiling like she’s already the worst decision I’ve ever made and I want to make it again.

“A honeymoon?” I echo, dragging my thumb across her spine again, slow and deliberate. “Darling, you’re lucky I didn’t drag you to a courthouse and make you sign prenup clauses in blood.”

She shifts, chin propping against my chest now so she can look at me properly, one brow arched, her expression all sweet venom. “What would you even put in a prenup?”

I grin lazily down at her, letting my fingers skim up her bare arm, my voice pitched low and full of mock-thoughtfulness. “Clause one: Luna Dain is not allowed to acquire any new morally gray, anciently cursed men without the express written permission of Elias Dain.”

She snorts, rolling her eyes like she’s not fighting a smile.

“Clause two,” I add, drawing circles into her shoulder again, “no sacrificing yourself dramatically without first consulting your designated sin husband.”

Her brow lifts higher. “And what if I want a divorce?”

I hum, pretending to think about it, even as my thumb drags slow and possessive across her skin.

“No such thing,” I murmur, voice dipping rougher now, that lazy edge fading beneath the weight of how true it is. “You married five deadly sins, sweetheart. You’re stuck with us.”

Her smile falters slightly, something sharper slipping through, something dangerous and sweet and devastating all at once, but she doesn’t argue. She just shifts closer, her body melting against mine like she’s finally letting herself breathe.

I tip my chin, catching her gaze again, that grin tugging at the corner of my mouth. “Though, if you’re serious about the honeymoon thing…”

Her eyes narrow immediately, but I don’t stop.

“I hear Silas has a timeshare in the Void Realm,” I continue, voice deadpan. “One bed, no windows, unlimited chaos energy.”

She groans, dragging a hand over her face, but she’s laughing now, low and quiet against my skin, and I can feel it unraveling something tight inside her.

“You’re the worst,” she mutters.

I grin wider, tipping her chin up with two fingers so she has to look at me, so she can see the weight in my eyes beneath the laziness.

“Yeah,” I murmur. “But you still married me.”

And because I’m me, because I don’t know how to stop when it comes to her, I shift beneath her, my hand curling low at her waist, thumb grazing over the edge of her ribs like I could rewrite the shape of her.

“And speaking of honeymoons…” I murmur, letting my voice dip, lazy and dark, until it curls around her like a hook.

Before she can answer, I roll, slow but deliberate, tipping her onto her back so she’s splayed beneath me, her hair a mess across the pillow, her eyes bright and sharp and so fuckingdangerous. I lean over her, one arm braced beside her head, the other dragging slow and possessive up the line of her thigh.

She laughs—low and wrecked and breathless—as if I haven’t already wrecked her entirely, and I want to bottle that sound and keep it for every night the world tries to take her from me.

“You’re ridiculous,” she breathes, the corners of her mouth twitching, her body loose and warm beneath mine now.