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Then: “You think Luna’s gonna complete the bond?”

That question sits in my chest like a blade. I don’t answer immediately, because part of me wants to say no. Wants to say she shouldn’t. That he doesn’t deserve it. But another part of me knows—Luna is Luna. She’s never been able to walk away from someone she thinks she can fix.

“I think,” I say carefully, “she’s going to do whatever hurts her the most, because that’s what she always fucking does.”

Silas hums. “Yeah. That’s what love looks like when it’s cursed.”

We sit there a while longer. Not speaking. Not moving. Just two shadows under the Hollow’s grieving sky, throwing rockslike boys trying to remember how to be something other than broken.

The stone skips once, then sinks. No dramatic splash, no satisfying plunk. Just gone. Like it knew better than to stay afloat in this place.

Silas leans back on his elbows beside me, his curls wild and wind-raked from our silent vigil out here. I don't know how long we've been sitting like this—long enough for the moon to drag its way higher, for the rest of the Hollow to settle into that breathless hush it always falls into when something's wrong.

"She's gonna complete it," I say aloud, not to Silas really, more to the air. More to the version of myself that keeps pretending maybe—just maybe—she won’t. That some miracle will show up and give her a third option. But there isn’t one. There never is.

“Yeah,” Silas mutters. “I know.”

And he does. We all do. The universe doesn’t like imbalance. Especially not with something like her. A half-finished bond is chaos. Too much power left in limbo, no vessel steady enough to hold it. The kind of thing that warps everything around it—thought, will, even time. And with Luna? It would devour her from the inside out. Not dramatically. Not explosively. Just… erase her. Unmake her.

“We’ve seen it,” I say. “Before. You remember.”

Silas nods slowly. His gaze tracks the ripples stretching across the pond, disturbed only by the rock he just threw. "That girl with the braid," he says. “In Prague. She begged him to stop. But Lucien kissed her and said, ‘you made the deal.’” He mimics Lucien’s voice with a vicious bite that surprises me.

“Yeah,” I breathe. “That girl.”

She’d clawed at her own chest before she bled out, her body rejecting the unfinished bond like it was poison. Because it was.

“She’s not like them,” Silas says, sitting up now, hands on his knees. “Luna. She didn’t ask for this. She doesn’t twist us for power. She just... exists, and we all unravel.”

“Do you think she’ll survive it?” I ask.

Silas scoffs, but it’s not cruel. Just tired. “She’s survived us so far.”

I rub my palms together, fingers twitching like they always do when I want to cast a spell but know it won't fix anything. "Caspian’s not ready."

“No shit,” Silas mutters. “The man’s a cracked vase trying to pretend he's still holding water.”

"She’ll try to fix him."

"Of course she will." Silas tosses another rock. Doesn’t even look to see where it lands. “She’s got that martyr thing going. Save everyone else even if it kills her. It’s fucking heroic. And it’s going to get her killed.”

I sit forward, elbows on my knees, and stare at my reflection in the dark water. I look tired. I always do. It’s the price of seeing too much and never doing enough.

“She loves you,” I say to Silas without looking at him.

“I know.”

“She loves me.”

“She’s got questionable taste.”

I snort, because he’s right. We’re all disasters wrapped in sin and sharp teeth. And she chooses us anyway.

“She’s going to complete the bond,” I say again, softer this time.

Silas doesn’t answer.

We don’t talk again for a while. Just sit in the dark, two devils watching the stars, and wait for the girl we love to decide whether or not she wants to live.