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He steps forward. No magic, no bite. Just a man, sharp and lethal and, for once, willing to play. And I swear to all the Sins, it’s the best thing I’ve seen all day.

Elias

The portal spits us out like a bad joke, the world reassembling itself in fractured light and curling shadows until my boots hit solid ground. This time, we're not dumped in the middle of the wasteland or at the edge of Branwen’s labyrinth. No, the Hollow's magic has a sense of humor—it plants us right at the crest of the hill, overlooking the village below.

And the second I recognize it, my mouth twists into something halfway between a wince and a smile. The village. Ofthatnight.

The roofs of the little crooked houses glitter faintly in the distance like teeth waiting to bite us, and I can already feel the ghost of cheap wine and too-loud laughter curling at the edges of my memory. The last time we were here, we got drunk on something foul enough to strip paint, danced with the villagers like we weren't sins in mortal skin—and Luna burned a girl's dress clean off her because I'd smiled at the wrong person.

She’d smiled back. That was the mistake.

Silas is already at my side, practically vibrating, his arms moving wildly as he spins to face Ambrose and Caspian, who trail behind us, their steps heavier, less loose. "Right," Silas starts, his voice pitched low but still too sharp to be subtle. "We need to lay down some ground rules. Since you two weren’t with us the last time we graced this charming little dump."

Ambrose cocks a brow, like he’s already bored. Caspian just slants a look at Silas, the corner of his mouth ticking up.

Silas ignores them both, too deep in his performance. "Rule number one—don’t. I mean it. Don’t look at anyone. Don’t breathe too loudly. Don’t even glance at one of the sweet little village girls with their shy smiles and butter-warm eyes." He points dramatically at Ambrose. "Especially you, moneybags. You’ve got the kind of face that makes people want to be ruined. And Caspian—" He shifts, finger jabbing in Caspian’s direction like a sword. "Your entire existence is a problem."

Caspian gives a lazy, disinterested smile that’s so razor-sharp it could slice skin. "I don't usually need warnings, darling. But keep talking. It’s doing something for me."

Silas barrels on. "I’m serious. Last time, Elias smiled at a girl. Just smiled." He flicks his fingers toward me without looking. "That smile—you know the one—the lazy, exhausted, sarcastic one that’s basically just his face."

I shrug like I don’t know exactly what he’s talking about.

"And Luna," Silas drags the word out like a melody, voice rich with drama, "lost her damn mind. That sweet thing burned the girl’s dress right off her body without even blinking. Whole village lit up like a bonfire after that."

Ambrose glances at me sidelong, all cool calculation wrapped in that perfectly unreadable stare. "You’re telling me she started a riot because you smiled?"

I lift a brow. "It was a good smile."

Silas snorts. "It wasn’t even yourbestsmile, and she still went full psycho. So." He stops walking, plants his hands on his hips like he’s leading a war council. "No smiling. No flirting. No Caspian-ing. And definitely no ‘Ambrose Dalmar Brood Stare,’ because one look from you and some poor villager will combust."

Caspian stretches his arms over his head, loose and lazy, like he’s already bored of the lecture. "Maybe I want to see her set the whole place on fire."

I glance at him, shaking my head. "That’s because you’re a masochist."

Silas points at me, grinning. "Exactly. We already know we’re disasters. I’m just saying—don’t give her a reason. Not tonight."

He starts walking again without waiting, and we fall in behind him like soldiers following their own chaos incarnate.

Below us, the village waits, quiet and glittering and unsuspecting. And in the space between one breath and the next, I already know—we’re not going to make it out of here without burning something down.

The prickle starts at the back of my neck—a shiver not of cold, but something heavier, the kind of weight that coils down your spine like a hand you can’t shake off. I don’t need to look to know who it is. That hum at the edge of my skin, that pulse tethered too tightly to my own heartbeat—it’s her.

Still, I glance over my shoulder like a man casually checking the weather, and there she is. Arms crossed over her chest, hip cocked like she’s standing in judgment of the entire fucking universe—but her eyes, those dangerous, brilliant things, they’re locked on me like she’s rememberingexactlywhat I did last time we were here. And I know her well enough now to catch it—that spark in her gaze, a possessive flash that’s got nothing to do with fear or anger, and everything to do with how hard she falls when one of us is stupid enough to make her burn.

And yeah, it’s hot. Because it’s hers. And it’s aimed at me.

I purse my lips, let a slow, lazy whistle curl past them like I haven’t just been caught red-handed. A devil’s tune, something sweet and sharp that slides beneath the edges of her glare like a knife.

Silas, without missing a damn beat, picks it up. He spins on his heel, elbowing Caspian in the ribs like he’s the drum to his chaos orchestra, then matching the whistle note for note. The sound snakes around us, light and teasing, like we’re boys again with nothing but mischief in our pockets.

I don’t break my stare with Luna, and she doesn’t blink, the corner of her mouth twitching even as she keeps pretending she’s pissed.

I lean closer to Silas without looking away from her. “You know,” I murmur, voice pitched low and full of sin, “if she sets something on fire again tonight, it’s your fault.”

Silas laughs under his breath. “It’salwaysmy fault.”

Caspian groans behind us like he’s tired already, and Ambrose, well—he hasn’t even tried to hide his eye roll, the bastard. But I catch it, the small lift of his lips when he thinks no one’s watching. Even he’s not immune to this spiral.