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Across from me, Caspian watches me too closely, and it’s only when his knee knocks against mine beneath the table that I realize how obvious I’m being.

"Stop looking like the world’s ending," he murmurs, voice pitched low so only I can hear it over the scrape of chairs and clatter of tankards. "You already lived through it."

I shake my head, a laugh caught in my throat but too bitter to come out. "Doesn’t feel like it."

Caspian’s mouth twists, like he wants to argue but knows better. Instead, he leans in, the shadows under his eyes softer today, but no less haunted. "We get Lucien and Orin. We burn this place down. We go home."

My gaze snaps to his, sharp and sharp-edged, and something in his expression gentles. I know what he’s not saying—the longer we stay here, the more we risk seeing the sins that came before me. The ghosts of the ones they mourned, the ones they loved before they ever knew my name. And if Branwen has anything to do with it, she’ll make damn sure I run into every single one.

"Home," I echo, even though it feels like a lie on my tongue.

Riven shifts beside me like he can hear my thoughts, even if I know I’ve kept the bond closed off this morning, not wanting him to feel how tangled I am. He thinks it’s Branwen that’s eating at me, and maybe part of it is. But not all. Not most.

The door creaks behind me. My spine locks straight, breath caught, but it’s just a group of villagers filing in, their chatter harmless, familiar. Still, my pulse won’t settle.

Elias scowling as Silas loudly announces that Elias cries in his sleep like a wet cat. It should be funny. It should drag me out of this pit, the way Silas always does when he’s being ridiculous, and Elias can’t help but snap back with something equally unhinged.

But not even Silas’ chaos can untangle the knot inside me.

Because this place is a graveyard, and I can’t stop thinking that it was made for us.

Made for me.

And I don’t want to stay long enough to prove it.

Caspian’s voice curls inside me like a thread, tugging soft and quiet against the part of me I always leave open for him.What’s wrong, darling?

It’s not a demand. Not even a question, really. He never pushes. Never tries to unravel me without permission, not like the others. Caspian has learned how to wait, how to ask instead of pry.

So I let myself lean into the bond, let the pulse of his warmth slip past the jagged parts of me this place keeps slicing open.

It’s stupid,I murmur back, staring down at my half-eaten breakfast like the smear of jam across the plate might swallow me whole.

Caspian hums gently in my head.Luna, I’m the Sin of Lust. I’ve made a life out of stupid.

That earns the smallest twitch of a smile from me, even though my throat feels tight. I breathe out slow, eyes flicking up to where he’s watching me without looking like he is—his knuckles drumming lazily on the table, head tipped toward Riven like he’s listening, but every inch of him angled toward me.

It’s not Branwen,I admit, dragging the words out like they weigh something.I know everyone thinks it is. But it’s not her.

He doesn’t respond immediately, just lets me keep going. And because it’s Caspian, I do.

It’s this place. It’s what my copy said—the Sin Binders who died. Who ended up here.I pause, rolling the thought over like glass in my mouth before spitting it out.I can’t stop wondering how many of them were important to you. Or to the others. How many were loved.

The bond goes quiet for a second too long. Then I feel him, sharp and tender all at once, like a hand cupping my jaw.You think we’d trade you for a ghost?

I think I was never supposed to last long enough to be more than one.

The chair across from me shifts, wood scraping over stone, and Caspian folds himself into the space without asking. He leans forward like he’s about to tell me a secret, eyes molten dark, his voice a soft knife.

"You know what’s funny, darling?" He taps two fingers against the table between us. "Every Sin Binder I’ve ever touched, I used them to keep the emptiness at bay. Let them fill the cracks until I got bored or they shattered. But you—" His fingers drift higher, grazing the edge of my hand. "You’re the only one who’s ever made me want to be full."

The bond flares, hot and electric, threading tight between us.

He tilts his head, the hint of a grin playing at the corner of his mouth. "So no, there’s no one in this hellhole I’d rather see than you."

My breath shudders out, everything in me coiling too tight, too fragile. I want to believe him. Want to take the weight of it and shove it somewhere deep so I can focus on Branwen, on Lucien, on the war waiting outside these walls.

But his honesty guts me. Because Caspian Vale has never been anyone’s anchor. And now I think he might be mine. I swallow hard and lean in just enough to brush my knee against his under the table.