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And then, a pulse—a soft tug at the back of my mind, warm and familiar, stitched straight into the marrow of me.

Where are you?

Her voice, sleepy and soft, slips like silk through the bond. Heavy with exhaustion but still looking for me in the dark.

I exhale slow, closing my eyes for a moment.

I’m fine, little moon. Outside. Talking with Ambrose.

There’s a beat of quiet across the bond before she presses again, soft but insistent.

Do you need me?

Something cracks open in my chest at that. The way she asks, like it’s the most natural thing in the world to offer herself when she’s half asleep. No hesitation, no conditions. She’d be outhere in bare feet and sleep-mussed hair if I so much as breathed wrong.

No,I send back, gentle and warm.I’m really okay tonight.

But I can feel her still lingering there, hovering at the edges of me, half-waiting.

So I add, because I can’t help myself—

Though if you want something to think about while you fall back asleep… Ambrose has a massive, soul-crippling crush on you.

There’s a pause long enough to make me grin, because I know she’s blinking up at the ceiling, trying to decide if I’m serious or if this is me being an ass again.

Then, through the bond, her laugh unfurls—low and wicked and sleepy sweet.

Liar.

I glance sideways at Ambrose, who’s glaring at the horizon like it owes him money.

Ask him yourself,I reply.He’s sitting here pretending he’s too cool to care while dying quietly inside every time you smile.

She hums, soft and pleased.

Good. He should.

My grin stretches sharp across my face because even half-asleep, she’s a menace.

Ambrose shifts beside me, rolling his eyes like he can hear every word and maybe he can—he’s perceptive enough, even if he pretends not to be.

“You telling her all my secrets?” he mutters.

“Only the good ones,” I say, leaning back again.

“You’re an ass,” he replies without heat.

“She likes me that way.”

He snorts under his breath and shakes his head, but there’s no venom in it. No barbs. Just two men who shouldn’t be friends,sitting together in the dark because somehow everything’s tangled them up in this mess.

And her.

Always her.

Luna

The morning crawls in slow, gray, and sullen. Like the village itself knows what waits at the end of this walk to the cathedral and is mourning us early. I sit at the rough, splintered table tucked in the corner of the tavern, one knee drawn up, chin resting against it, my gaze cutting toward the door like a blade.