Page 163

It’s this place. It’s not just Branwen, it’s… everything here feels like it’s crawling under my skin. Like it knows me.

Luna.I slow my stride so we’re almost walking hip to hip now.What does that mean?

She exhales, the sound brushing the inside of my skull like smoke curling around a blade.The clone—the one Silas summoned in the circle. She said this place is where Sin Binders go when they die. And I keep thinking... what if the ones who came before me are here? What if they’re watching?

I glance at her from the corner of my eye, the line of her jaw tight, her lips pinched like she’s trying to swallow down her own thoughts.

You think they’ll come for us?I ask, voice quieter now, threading carefully beneath the weight in her chest.That one of us will look at them and wish they never lost them?

No,she answers instantly, too fast. Then slower, softer:I think I’ll look at them and wonder why I’m here at all.

That’s the knife of it—the thing she’s been bleeding out quietly beside us all morning. I could tear this realm in half for her, and it wouldn’t fix that.

I stop, reaching out and curling my fingers around her wrist, forcing her to look at me.

You don’t end up here, Luna. You rewrite what this place even means. Those other binders? They were never you. And none of us are ever going to want anyone but you.

Her throat bobs, her pulse hammering against my grip. But she doesn’t pull away. She never does.

You keep looking back like something’s going to take us from you,I murmur, voice pitched low and vicious.But nothing’s ever going to pry me from you. Let them crawl out of these woods if they want. Let them try.

Her eyes flicker like I’ve just handed her a blade.

You mean that?she asks, not as a test—but because she needs to hear it.

Every godsdamned word,I swear, letting her feel it pulse hot and real down the bond.

Her walls drop, just a fraction.

Okay,she says finally, the word delicate as glass.

She saysokayand it lingers—lodged in my chest like a blade turned sideways. That one fucking word, soft as it is, burns hotter than any scream.

I keep my grip on her wrist, but I don’t squeeze. I just hold, grounding her—and maybe myself—because she’s not the only one fraying. Every part of me is coiled tight, strung like a weapon too long left in the sun. If she knew the kind of thoughts running through my head, the weight of fury itching just beneath my skin, she’d shove me away for her own safety.

Because I get it now.

I get what she must be thinking. What it must feel like—to walk through a place haunted by your lover’s past. Where ghosts don’t whisper—they leer. They wait. They might not be real, but the feeling is, and it’s chewing her alive.

And then my own mind flips the fucking switch.

Because if the roles were reversed—if I were the one walking through a place thick with her past… fuck. I wouldn't survive it. Not like she is. Not with this quiet dignity, this haunted grace.

She has exes. Lovers.

The thought cuts through me like acid through silk. Iknowshe was with others before me—beforeus—but knowing it and beingremindedof it in this godsdamned place, where sin stains the dirt and old magic remembers too well? It claws at me, mean and jealous andmine.

I shove the thought down so hard my jaw aches. She doesn’t need my possessiveness right now. Doesn’t need the sharp side of me flaring because I can’t handle the idea of anyone else’s hands having ever touched her.

So I keep walking, beside her, my steps deliberately steady. Even when inside, everything’s unraveling. She doesn't speak again. But her hand doesn’t leave mine.

And that’s enough.

We hit the edge of the trees where the path narrows, shadow curling like smoke off the cobblestones ahead. The cathedral looms distant beyond it, half-veiled in mist, like it’s holding its breath, waiting for us to arrive.

Behind us, the others start to catch up—Silas loud, Elias snarking, Caspian quieter than usual. But none of them matter right now.

Just her.