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"Silas," she snaps, all bite and no teeth, because she knows I do this on purpose.

"Listen, sweetheart," I murmur, my grin stretching sharp enough to cut. "I’m a man of many talents. Protecting your pretty little lifeandcopping a feel at the same time? Efficiency."

Elias snorts from behind, muttering, "God, you’re so cringe, Silas. You’re gonna give her a second-hand embarrassment aneurysm."

I don’t even turn around. "She married me, technically. You’re just jealous because I get the honorary tit privilege."

That earns me another smack, this time from Luna’s elbow jamming into my ribs, but there’s no real force behind it. She’s still smiling, even when she tries to scowl, and that does something to me. Something fierce.

But I straighten, arm falling away as the ground beneath us hums again—not from magic this time, but from whatever the hell is waiting beyond that portal. The Hollow isn’t dormant anymore. It’s alive, shifting, breathing with us in it, and I feel it down to my bones. The ripple of something ancient unfurling like it's waking from a nightmare.

I glance over my shoulder at Elias, who’s stopped pretending to be casual now, eyes narrowed at the glowing edges of the stone and ash swirling ahead of us. "You ready to follow me into the pit of hell?"

Elias lifts a brow lazily. "As long as you don’t try to grab my tits."

"You’d be so lucky."

I shift, glancing toward the portal’s flickering mouth, squaring my shoulders. "Alright, my sweet sinners," I announce, voice louder now, slipping into something performative because that’show I handle the fact we might not all come back. "Operation:Get Our Old Men Backis a go."

The portal spits us out like chewed-up bones, shoving reality back around us all at once—magic thick and old here, like the place remembers every blood-soaked step we’ve taken across it. And I, being the professional disaster that I am, see the angle—the timing—the absolute perfection of the moment.

I can do this.

I time the momentum, tuck into a smooth barrel roll like I’m the goddamn hero of this story, my grin already pulling sharp across my face because I’m gonna stick the landing and throw finger guns at my crew like the absolute menace I am.

Except—Ambrose fucking Dalmar beats me to it.

The bastard comes out of the portal like he’s been doing this his whole life, shoulders loose, coat snapping behind him, and he drops into a flawless roll before I even hit the ground. He’s smug about it, too. The man has theaudacityto pop up on his feet, pivot on a heel, and finger gun me before I can get my hands up.

A wink.Mywink.

The man winks at me like he invented the damn thing, and then throws over his shoulder, “Payback’s a bitch, Veyd.”

I freeze mid-roll, flat on my back in the dirt, staring at him like he’s grown two extra heads and both of them are flipping me off.

Luna’s snort of laughter cuts through the thick hum of magic, followed by Elias absolutely losing his shit next to her, bent at the waist, wheezing like he’s never seen anything funnier.

"That was supposed to bemymove!" I shout, scrambling to my feet, dirt smeared down my arm, hair wild and glitter still clinging to my skin from earlier. "Ambrose Dalmar, you dramatic, manipulative bastard—how dare you steal my chaos!"

Ambrose just smirks, rolling his shoulders like he’s shaking off centuries of order and rules, like this—this moment—is the first one he’s actually enjoyed in a long time.

"You had it coming," he throws back without looking at me, already striding forward like he owns this fucked-up world we’ve been spat back into. Like he didn’t just casually pull the rug out from under me.

I throw my arms wide, grin dangerous and all teeth. "You see this? You see how everyone underestimates me until they start copying me?"

Elias, wheezing, wipes his eyes. "You’re the trendsetter of bad ideas, Silas. Always have been."

Luna shakes her head, but when she catches my eye, her lips quirk up again. "You’re still my chaos."

I puff out my chest becausehell yes I am,but then the ground beneath us pulses—deep and hungry—and everything shifts.

The sky here never looks right, too dark, too stretched, colors bleeding at the edges like reality itself is holding its breath. The portal behind us is still open, but the longer we stand here, the more it feels like the ground wants to eat us whole.

Ambrose glances back, all sharp calculation again. "Fun’s over, Veyd. Let’s find Orin and Lucien before this place devours us."

Ambrose is walking like every shard of ruined stone and every sliver of danger bends for him. Loose-shouldered, chin up, that fuckingsmirkstretching across his face like the entire universe owes him applause. And maybe it does—maybe he's always been carved from arrogance and sharp edges—but today, it’s worse. He’s cocky, almost casual, falling into step like he’s the leader of this little merry band of degenerates.

And technically? He isn’t.