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Silas yelps mid-thought, arms flailing as Ambrose's foot connects with his back, sending him tumbling off the deck like aragdoll. There’s a splash—not dramatic enough to match Silas’s shriek—and then the chaos gremlin himself is sputtering curses from the shallow edge of the pond.

Ambrose steps over the spot Silas had occupied like he’s done it a thousand times. Maybe he has. He doesn’t even look down to check if Silas is alive—because of course he is. Instead, he brushes nonexistent lint from his immaculate coat, settles beside me with a sigh far too civilized for someone who just assaulted a fellow Sin, and says, “Why are we all so fucking quiet?”

I glance sideways. “Maybe because someone nearly died today.”

He hums like I just commented on the weather. “Nearly. Which means she didn’t. And Caspian didn’t. And you didn’t. Which makes it a good day by our usual standards.”

Silas hauls himself back onto the deck, soaked and snarling. “You boot me like a soccer ball and then sit in my spot?”

Ambrose doesn’t move. “It’s my spot now.”

“You can’t justclaimit—”

“I did. Successfully.”

Silas glares at him, dripping wet, hair plastered to his forehead like a drowned feral cat. “You’re lucky I like my girl more than I like revenge.”

“Doubtful,” Ambrose replies, his voice silk over steel. “You’re entirely revenge-driven. You just haven’t figured out who to blame yet.”

Silas grumbles but doesn’t argue. He flops down a few feet away with exaggerated drama, wringing out his sleeve with a flourish that flings droplets in every direction.

Ambrose leans back on his hands, stretches his legs out like he’s settling in for a show. “So,” he says, his voice low and unreadable. “Do we think she’ll choose him?”

“She has to,” I murmur. “We’ve been over this.”

“‘Has to’ and ‘wants to’ are rarely the same thing,” Ambrose replies. “You know that better than anyone.”

“Maybe,” I admit. “But it doesn’t matter. The bond’s already pulling. The universe will make sure it finishes.”

Ambrose tilts his head back, watching the stars with eyes that see more than they should. “It’s always the ones who don’t want to be gods that are forced to play like them.”

Silas, now lying flat on the deck, lets out a sigh. “I just want her to be okay.”

That silences the rest of us. Because beneath all the jokes and chaos and manipulations, that’s the one thing we all want. For her to survive. For her to stay.

Silas flings his arm over his eyes like he’s auditioning for a tragic role in a high school play, voice muffled by faux despair. “Do you think Caspian’s gonna stop crying once he sleeps with her? Or is he gonna sob through that too?”

I shoot him a look, equal parts exhausted and unimpressed. “Seriously?”

He peeks at me from under his arm, mouth twitching. “I’m asking the hard questions.”

“No, you’re asking the dumb ones.”

“Tomato, to-mah-to.” He sighs again, long and dramatic like the universe personally offended him. “It’s a valid concern, though. Mood’s gonna be a bit weird if he starts weeping mid-thrust.”

I groan and tip my head back against the deck, staring up at the dark stretch of sky that’s too quiet, too still. “I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear the phrase ‘weeping mid-thrust’ tonight.”

“Bet Luna won’t be able to pretend.”

“Silas.”

He snorts, finally rolling onto his stomach like a cat that’s tired of being cute and wants to cause problems again. “Okay, okay. I’m done. Mostly.”

But the thing is…he’s not wrong. Not really.

Caspian’s never been the one to break. He’s always been the beautiful disaster, sure—too much lust wrapped in gold and blood—but never this. Never the kind of broken that looks like silence and sleepless nights and stifled sobs through walls too thin to block it out.

I don’t know how to handle it. None of us do.