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The others begin to move, slow and deliberate, gathering themselves like broken weapons. Even Ambrose, still quiet, gaze razor-sharp, brushing past without a word as if this night hasn’t rattled something deep inside him.

But Luna’s eyes meet mine as she follows, lingering for just a moment too long. There's nothing in her gaze but exhaustion—and something raw beneath it, something carved out and bleeding, even if she won’t let anyone see it yet.

I hold her stare, nod once, quiet acknowledgment, before I shift, swallowing the ache, and speak.

“We’ll need to move quickly,” I say, my voice carrying the weight they’ll listen to, the weight Lucien’s too cracked to hold right now. “The path back won’t stay stable long. This place—it’s unraveling without the pillar.”

Lucien’s jaw tightens, but he nods, following me without a word.

The walk to the cathedral doors feels like moving through the ribs of something dead, hollow and echoing and far too quiet for the violence we left behind. The heavy magic is thinning, slipping through the cracks like smoke.

As we step out into the fractured moonlight, the forest waiting beyond the ruins feels different—less like it’s pressing against us, more like it’s breathing again.

Silas sidles up next to me, still smirking despite the fresh scrape along his cheekbone.

“You’re not gonna lecture me about how irresponsible it is to drink ourselves stupid tonight, are you?” he asks, voice light but careful.

I glance at him, expression even. “I’m not your keeper, Silas.”

He grins. “But you could be. You’ve got that stern, brooding energy. All you’re missing is a drink in your hand and some emotional damage.”

Elias snorts behind us. “He’s got plenty of that.”

I don’t answer. Because tonight, after everything, maybe we’ve all earned a little oblivion. And gods help us, we’re going to need it before what’s coming next. Because this was never the end. Only the start of something far worse.

Lucien

The Fang Tavern is a hole in the wall, crumbling stone walls and iron lanterns that spit shadows across the stained wooden beams. It reeks of sweat, old magic, and the kind of regret you can drown in. A place built for monsters and men alike to forget themselves.

I sit at the corner table, back to the wall, always. Orin’s to my right, quiet as a blade left unsheathed, the exhaustion bleeding from him in waves, but the old bastard still watches everything like he’s cataloging the room for sins. Riven’s across from me, leaned back like he owns the godsdamnworld again, like the war we just crawled out of hasn’t settled in his bones yet.

A round of something that tastes like ash and hellfire sits in front of us, untouched.

Riven’s voice cuts through the muted murmur of the tavern, low and measured. "The Council’s furious," he says, swirling his glass like the weight of it’s heavier than it should be. "You’re a ghost, Lucien. Vanished off the map."

I hum, noncommittal, letting the weight of it settle between us. I already knew the Council would call for our heads—they always do when we don’t play their game right.

But it’s what Riven says next that tightens something sharp in my gut.

"And Caspian and Ambrose?" His lip curls, like he can’t decide whether to laugh or snarl. "They’re bound now. To her."

Five. She’s taken five of us. And it will be six. Soon.

The knowledge sits in my chest like iron, heavy and unwanted.

"I don’t care what the Council says," Riven adds, voice sharp, dragging my attention back. "They can choke on their outrage. What matters is what’s coming."

I raise a brow, the tilt of my mouth dry. "And what’s coming?"

He leans forward, voice quiet enough only we can hear. "This place. The pillar. Is a graveyard. For Sin Binders."

The words scrape down my spine.

Riven sighs. "Every Sin Binder that ever existed is buried here. Every bond. Every mistake. Every nightmare."

It isn’t just a battlefield we left behind.

It’s a graveyard of power.