Page 44

Silas hums under his breath, leans forward like he’s about to offer some philosophical gem, and then says, “We could try sending a message the old way. Light it on fire, toss it into the abyss, whisper sweet nothings while it burns.”

Elias groans. “You absolute swamp creature, that’s not how the ritual works.”

“It’s better than sitting here with our dicks in our hands,” I mutter.

“Speak for yourself,” Silas says brightly. “Mine’s otherwise occupied.”

Luna snorts. Just once, soft and reluctant. But it slices through the heaviness like a knife. And gods help me, I want to bottle the sound. Steal it for later when all this comes crashing down.

She’s bound to four of us now, Lucien is gone, Orin too, and she should be a wreck—but she’s not. She’s shifting. Settling into something quieter, darker. Her eyes meet mine, and for a second, I forget how to breathe. Because I feel it.

She’s going to burn us all down to get them back.

And I’m going to help her do it.

“Then we build a map,” I say, dragging my gaze away. “A plan that doesn’t rely on the portal. Branwen took them into theHollow’s edge, not the heart. She’s not stupid enough to risk being that close to the Leyline. That gives us options.”

“And if we’re wrong?” Caspian finally speaks, voice hoarse and raw.

“Then we go through hell,” I answer. “And we drag them out screaming.”

“Riven,” she says. Just my name. Soft. Curious. Dangerous.

I don’t look up right away—I’m busy dragging red lines across a map of the Hollow with a blade-tip and trying to remember how to think like Lucien. But it’s her voice. And that means it hits differently. It always does.

“Yes, love?” I answer, because I’m a goddamn idiot.

There’s a beat of silence. And then the room explodes.

Elias makes a noise like he’s just swallowed a demon and is choking on its sarcasm. “Oh,love, is it?” he coughs into his fist, twisting in his chair to stare at me with mock horror. “Somebody’s gone soft.”

Silas, who’s sitting on the edge of the table eating something he definitely stole from someone’s stash, nearly drops the pastry. “Holy shit. Did we just witness a romantic breakthrough? Should we light candles? Play soft music? Let Luna ruin you with kindness?”

“I will absolutely officiate your wedding,” Elias adds, solemnly. “In a speedo. With doves. Possibly a smoke machine.”

“Try it,” I growl without looking up, “and I’ll end you with a spoon.”

She smirks. Which is worse, somehow, because that smirk meansshe knowswhat she’s doing. She’s aware of the way the word fell out of my mouth like it belonged there. And the way I didn’t immediately take it back.

“I was just going to ask if you had another marker,” she says, tilting her head. “But sure. Let’s talk about ourlovelife.”

Silashowls.

“Please let her peg him,” Elias whispers with reverence. “Let it be me who witnesses it.”

I swipe the knife down hard enough to nick the wood beneath the map. “Do either of you have a death wish or just a deep-seated need to be maimed creatively?”

Ambrose doesn’t even flinch. He just lifts a brow from where he lounges across a too-small chair like royalty bored at court. “Don’t look at me. I think it’s charming. And unwise.”

“You don’t get to talk about wise,” I snap, stabbing the map again. “You’re out here playing domestic with Luna in flower fields and pretending you aren’t five seconds from collapsing into her like a starving man.”

“Jealous?” he murmurs, without heat. His smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

And maybe Iamjealous. Not of what he gets. Of what he allows himself.

The bond with Luna pulses in my chest like a bruise I press on, over and over again. I hate the way she makes me soft. I hate that softness means I’d tear the world down if she asked. And I really fucking hate how the room keeps spinning tighter around her, like gravity is choosing sides—and I’m losing the fight I swore I wouldn’t even enter.

“Marker’s in the drawer behind you,” I tell her instead.